Shaun of the Dead 2: Red Shaun
by NCTibby
Summary: Over a year after the events of Z-Day, Shaun finds himself in a battle against the undead again. But this time, it’s vampires. The future of Crouch End is at stake. Now Complete! Please R&R!
1. So Much for a Happy Ending

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or events of the film "Shaun of the Dead." That honor belongs to the very lovely and very talented Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. I also do not own any of the characters or ideas of the television series or film "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." That honor belongs to Joss Whedon, who is equally lovely and talented. I do own the character of Sara and her various and sundry colleagues, though. **

**This story is dedicated to my fellow PeggLeggs: JessicaDwyer for inspiring me to write this in the first place (let's hope it's one-tenth as good as your story), Lekksa for starting up the Pegged Message Board and thus feeding our collective addiction, and MizSlick for her in-depth knowledge of DVD technology (easy on those Pause and Zoom buttons, sunshine). But really, anyone who appreciates the humor and hotness of Simon "SmileyRiley" Pegg is near and dear to my heart. Hope you enjoy!**

"...And I really hope that we can stay friends, Shaun. In spite of all we've been through, we still had some good times together. I still care about you, I just need something more. Maybe if we had some time apart, you could find your focus, really figure out your place in life. I just want what's best for you, Shaun. Bye, byeee, bye!" BEEEEP.

Shaun had listened to the message a hundred times over the past month and still couldn't make sense of it. He needed to find focus? He needed to find his place in life? His focus was Liz. His place was with her. Hadn't he risked his life, and the lives of his friends and family, to save hers back in the chaos of Z-Day?

He had plenty of focus. And now was time to focus on ridding his life of everything Liz. "Right, then," he said determinedly and began the task of clearing his flat. He worked through most of the day, not even noticing the light outside begin to wane.

When he looked out the window and saw approaching darkness, he decided he'd been working long enough. Time for a pint. He threw on his dark grey jacket and headed out the front door to the pub.

It was an unusually cold summer evening as the sun set on the city of London. Across the old city, darkness settled in and streetlights sparked up like little torches dotted across the landscape.

The city was as busy at night as it was during the day—the hard-working and the unemployed, the living and the zombies, alike making their plans for the evening. As the young vibrant socialites tried to secure taxis enroute to Leicester Square and SoHo, the zombies settled in for another night of watching "Pop Idol."

Paul, a concrete slab of a security guard at the British Museum, already had his plans for the night. And he didn't like them. He'd rather be at the pub watching Manchester United, instead of babysitting a bunch of old, dust-covered relics.

A large shipment of antiquities had arrived recently from Serbia, sent by a wealthy donor unsure of that country's new government and their interest in preserving the past. Now Paul had to wait around while a bunch of tweed-suited, four-eyed professors made a thorough inventory of every piece.

He better be getting overtime for this, he thought, taking another drag off his cigarette.

"Would you mind not smoking in here?" one of the professors requested in an annoyed posh voice.

"Yes, I would," Paul grunted. He'd been patient while the academics wandered around all day, but it was past closing time and there was only one professor left. A tall, slender man with disarmingly intense blue eyes and a slightly nervous manner. He kept lingering around a big black wooden box. The last item of inventory. "Look, sir, you'll have plenty of time to look at this during business hours."

The professor was fully enthralled by the many markings etched into the top of the box. "No, no, I'm afraid it must be tonight."

Paul approached him warily. "Look, what is so interesting about this box?"

"These carvings—they seem to be an ancient Romanian dialect, dating back to the 14th or 15th century possibly. The inhabitant of this box was a very, very powerful man."

"You mean to tell me there's someone in there. Like one of them sarcophagus."

"It's much more complicated than that. If I'm translating this correctly, these are the words of a binding spell, meant to imprison this very powerful and very dangerous man for all eternity." He continued to study the markings carefully, producing a small golden object shaped like a dagger from his jacket.

"Here, what's that for?"

"It's a key. The key to open this box."

"Why would you want to open it?"

"Because it is my destiny." He whipped round and stabbed the guard in the stomach with the gold dagger. Now covered in blood, he slipped the key into a lock on the side, fighting to turn it against the years of rust.

He heard the click of ancient locks opening and the creak of ancient hinges turning. "Arise," he whispered. "The world has been waiting too long for its master to return. Arise, my old, old friend."

While the rest of the city got ready for bed, oblivious to the pained cries of a mortally- wounded security guard, an ancient evil awoke in the cellars of the British Museum.

The next morning, Shaun decided to stop in at the record store on the way to work. As he entered, his eardrums were assaulted with Avril Lavigne's "Happy Ending" blaring over the speakers. He winced at the angsty teen pop that was far too descriptive of how he was feeling. It certainly didn't help his hangover, either.

The only employee he saw was a short brunette dramatically dancing to the music as she put away CDs. "Excuse me," he said softly, almost hesitant to interrupt her.

She turned abruptly, her brown eyes wide, struggling to hold on to the stack of CDs in her hands. "Oh, wow, you scared me," she gasped.

"Got some CDs to exchange," he said, holding up a Fantasy Bazaar bag full of Liz's CDs. Too bad Liz had forgotten to take them when she left. Oh, well, at least he could make some money off her bone-crushing, heart-shattering departure.

"Okay, I'll take a look. Feel free to browse." She took the bag behind the counter, while Shaun started to wander the store.

As he flipped through the soundtracks, the background music mercifully changed to The Smiths' "Girlfriend in a Coma" and he tried to suppress a smile. Much more appropriate, thanks. After a few more minutes of wandering, he approached the counter.

"Any luck?"

"Let's see, I can give you 25 dollars cash or 60 dollars store credit."

"Don't you mean 'pounds'?" he corrected, noting the American accent.

"Yes, yes, exactly. Sorry, I haven't been here that long," she explained, embarrassed. "So...cash or credit?"

"Cash."

"Okay." She collected the pound notes from the till, handed them to him along with one of the CDs. "I'm afraid I can't take that one."

"Why not?" Shaun asked, noticing that it was Jeff Buckley's _Grace_. "Is it scratched or something?"

"No, I just think you should hold onto it."

"Why?"

"Because you've just broken up with someone, right? I mean, all these albums are of a romantic nature. One would guess that you are ridding your life of everything that reminds you of her, or possibly things that belonged to her," she hypothesized, holding up a suspicious Celine Dion CD. "You'll need Buckley to get through those lonely nights."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Just...trust me."

"Right. Cheers, then." He took the cash, and the Buckley CD, and departed.


	2. Dark Alleys and Deadly Intentions

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or events of the film "Shaun of the Dead." That honor belongs to the very lovely and very talented Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. I also do not own any of the characters or ideas of the television series or film "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." That honor belongs to Joss Whedon, who is equally lovely and talented. And he should be commended for making a girl collect comic books again. I mean, have you seen the new issues of "The Astonishing X-Men"? Okay, sorry to distract you. Get on with your reading...**

Several hours later, having spent the cash on videogames and looking at the new _Star Wars _DVD boxed set on the shelf with suitable contempt, Shaun was at the pub. Not the Winchester, of course.

Even if it hadn't been undergoing major renovations from Z-Day damage, he could never go back there. The flood of good and bad memories would have drowned him. And if he'd felt like drowning things, he would have popped _Tomb Raider_ into his Playstation and let Lara Croft die of lack of oxygen on level three.

No, much better to drown his sorrows in a pint and a game of pool. At the moment, he found himself behind the eight ball. Literally. It would take a carefully-planned, brilliantly-executed trick shot to get the cue ball around it and on track to hit the two ball in the corner pocket.

Shaun lost focus only long enough to realize that the jukebox was playing "American Woman." He briefly thought about how no song could escape an Austin Powers soundtrack unscathed. He then returned his focus to the pool table.

He patiently aimed, took the shot and watched in horror as the white ball went flying across the room on a kamikaze mission to crack the cranium of some innocent bystander. To his relief, and surprise, a short brunette turned quickly and caught it mere inches from her head.

"Um, wow, I'm really, really sorry about that," he quickly stammered an apology.

"That's okay," she smiled. "But I'd say that counts as a scratch." She tossed the ball back to him and continued on her path to the bar. Why did she look familiar to him? Unable to answer that question, he turned back to his game.

"Shaun, is that you?" a female voice interrupted.

He turned to the blonde, slender figure of a woman. She looked familiar as well. "Uh, yeah, hi."

"It's me, Melanie. One of Liz's old workmates," she said enthusiastically. "Cheeky thing, you don't remember me, do you?"

"No, no, of course I do, Melanie. You...worked with Liz."

"Exactly. I haven't seen you in ages. You still working at that appliance store?"

"Yeah, yeah. I thought about leaving, but they gave me this promotion that made it worth my staying."

"Oh, really? That's nice. You still with Liz?"

"Um, no, not so much. We're sort of...on a break. Sorting things out, y'know."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that." She paused, thoughtfully tilting her head. Shaun inexplicably felt like a piece of meat being inspected. Where did that feeling come from? "Y'know, I always had a little crush on you..."

Meanwhile at the bar, the short brunette took a seat. "Pint of Newcastle, please," she requested, fumbling through her pound notes for the right amount. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked a mess.

Sleepless nights had left her brown eyes bloodshot and baggy, the English weather had played havoc with her dark brown hair, and the ensemble she had chosen of jeans and a grey sweater was only a slight improvement on the record store uniform she'd been wearing a few hours ago.

At least she still had her reflexes. If she hadn't prevented that guy's cue ball from colliding with her skull, she would have had an even worse headache. And that guy at the pool table, hadn't he been in the store earlier? Post-breakup CD selling guy, she remembered. In the mirror, she saw him talking to someone at his side but didn't see anyone there.

"Can you believe he didn't call a foul on that?!" a male voice at her side loudly interrupted.

"Sorry?"

"A foul?! And that guy was clearly offside."

It was then she looked up at the TV to notice the game to which her neighbor was referring. "Oh, soccer. I don't really follow it."

"Soccer?" he said, with a laugh. "That is football, sunshine."

"Well, it's soccer in America."

"Right, right. Next, you'll be telling me that chips are called 'French fries' and lifts are called 'elevators'." He took another sip of Guinness. "I'm Ian."

"Sara," she replied, shaking his hand.

"So you been over here long?"

"No, no, just a few weeks. Still adjusting, y'know." She continued to look from the mirror to the pool table. Yes, post-breakup CD selling guy was talking to someone. No, she did not have a reflection. Definite lack of reflection. Or were her tired eyes playing tricks on her?

"What brought you here?"

"Other than my massive crush on Colin Firth?"

"Other than that, yeah," he laughed.

"I got a job and was transferred here to London. I can't complain really. At least now I don't have to wait years for the new series of 'Coupling' or 'McCallum' or something like that."

"You get those shows across the Pond?"

"Of course. We're not completely uncivilized." She stole another glance at the pool table. No one there. No sign of them at all. Panic seized at her.

"Well, if you ask me, with a very few exceptions, most of our programs here are total—"

"Shit!" she cried.

"Exactly."

"No, I wasn't...I just...I have to go. Sorry." She hopped off the stool and ran to the door.

"Bloody Yanks," he muttered and went back to his Guinness and football.

Meanwhile, Shaun was being led out of the pub, down the street and into a dark alley. "Are you sure this is the way to the Tube?" he asked, a bit drunkenly.

After Melanie had started talking to him in the pub, he started to remember her. Remember the things he'd liked about her. Remember the time they'd fooled around at Liz's office party. For some reason, he didn't feel like being alone tonight. And for that reason, he'd accepted her invitation to a party. But for still another reason, he was feeling uneasy.

"It's a shortcut I know," she replied, leading him further down the dark, foggy alley.

"Look, Mel, it's really nice of you to invite me," he said, stopping. "But maybe I should just go home."

"Not yet, Shaun." She grabbed hold of his collar and pushed him against the wall. She brought her face close to his, uncomfortably close.

"Wait, wait. I just got out of a long-term relationship. I'm not sure I'm quite ready for this."

Mel sighed. "Right, Shaun, you were never that good at foreplay. So let's just go to the main event." In an instant, her face transformed into a hideous mask of wrinkles, yellow eyes and sharp fangs.

He didn't even have time to scream before she sunk her teeth into his neck.


	3. A Room With No View

**DISCLAIMER: I still do not own any of the characters or events of the film "Shaun of the Dead." Its creators, Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright, are still very lovely and very talented. And very unavailable. Why? Why is the world so cruel?! No, no, I'll be fine. You go on ahead and read. Don't mind me. But seriously, WHY??? **

Sara came running out of the pub, wondering which way to turn. Left or right? She cursed herself for getting into a shallow conversation with yet another random Englishman in a pub. Just because he looked a bit like John Hannah did not excuse putting someone's life on the line. Bad, bad Sara.

She chose to go right and started running. A few blocks later, she came upon a dark alley. Was there anyone there? She thought she heard voices, a stifled scream. She grabbed something out of her backpack and ran into the shadows.

As he felt a coldness descend on him, Shaun could not believe it. Alone, in a dark alley, having the blood sucked out of him by the office slag. How much bad luck could one guy have? Liz would be sorry when she heard that he'd died. She might even take a moment out of shagging some Saab-driving, hip hop-listening pharmaceutical rep to mourn his death.

"Oy, ya' toothy tart!" came a female voice from the entrance of the alley.

Melanie abruptly pulled away from Shaun to face the stranger who had dared to interrupt her dinner. Out of the fog, a woman walked closer, brandishing what looked to Shaun like a piece of wood. Why was he always being menaced with pieces of wood?

"You look a bit pale," the mystery woman said. "I think you need some more iron in your diet. How about a nice stake?"

She quickly tossed the piece of wood at Melanie, lodging the stake in her chest. Melanie evaporated in a shower of ashes. The woman quickly ran up to Shaun, who had slid down the wall and was preparing to slide into unconsciousness. She looked familiar.

"Are you okay?" she asked desperately. "Look, help is on the way. You're going to be fine."

"Right. Cheers, then," he muttered and slumped to the floor of the alley as blackness enveloped him. In and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity.

He was aware of being loaded into a van or something, being wheeled into a big white room, being surrounded by attentive people in white lab coats. Life had become a series of switching between black and white. I must be in a Bergman film, he thought. A Bergman film with vampires. Did he make any films about vampires?

Sara slowly opened the door of the hospital's observation room and walked in quietly. A man was already there, looking through the two-way mirror at their newest patient. He was tall and slender, efficiently-dressed. More like an accountant than what he really was. His red hair was cut severely short and his green eyes widened at her approached.

"Heard you got a bit of action tonight," he offered with a smirk.

"Don't be crude, Will," she huffed. By now, she'd gotten use to his immature, testosterone-driven humor. He could be funny at times, even charming. But she wasn't in the mood for it now. "Will he be okay?"

"Probably. He lost a lot of blood, but we were able to give him a transfusion. He should be fine in a few days."

"This is all my fault."

"What are you talking about? You saved his life. If you hadn't been there, he really would be dead. We don't need anymore corpses right now. The morgue is full."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Will!" she exclaimed.

"I'm just saying you've nothing to feel guilty about."

She looked at him lying on the hospital bed. So helpless, alone, dependent on the machines and the doctors. He'd been so alive only a few hours ago. Depressed, yes, but alive. "I knew him," she finally said.

"What?"

"I knew him. He came into the record store to sell back some CDs. He'd just broken up with his girlfriend. The last thing this guy needed was a woman sinking her fangs into him."

She turned away and leaned against the wall. "I screwed up, I got careless, he could have died because of me."

Will put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, this is not your fault. You've been patrolling every night, you've killed dozens of vampires, you've saved dozens of people. It's not a bad record for a rookie. I mean, you deserved a night off."

"Well, I didn't get it, did I? They just keep coming, Will. Where are they coming from?"

"Um, yeah, we're working on that." That was his answer to every question that he couldn't answer.

The door opened to admit another tall man in a suit, carrying a file.

"Good evening, Michael," Will said in a subservient tone to his superior.

"Will, Sara," was his curt greeting. "His name's Shaun," Michael observed.

"Did you get that from his wallet?" Sara asked.

"No, from his nametag," he replied, holding up a red Foree Electric nametag with 'Shaun' in big white letters.

"Oh, I see."

"Any family we should get in touch with?" Will asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. His mother and stepfather both died on Z-Day, no siblings and no significant other that we know of."

"Right," Will sighed.

"You two don't get it, do you?"

Sara and Will exchanged glances. "What are we supposed to get?" she asked timidly. She'd always found Michael imposing, especially when he knew something she was supposed to know.

"This is Shaun._ The_ Shaun. The one that survived the zombie attack on the Winchester Arms. He rounded up his friends and family, took them to the pub to ride out the attack, but only he and his girlfriend made it out alive."

They all turned to look at the unassuming blond, goateed man lying on the hospital bed. "Wow," Will muttered. "This guy just attracts the undead, doesn't he?"

Before she went home to her flat, Sara made a visit to Shaun's room. She gently sat down on the side of the bed and took his hand. It was cold, but not as cold as it could have been. "Hi, Shaun," she started. The beep of the EKG machine was the only reply. "I'm Sara. I sort of rescued you tonight. It's kinda' what I do. At least it's what I'm told to do.

"I mean, a few years ago I was just minding my own business, working a mind-numbing, entry-level marketing job. And then this mysterious British guy comes along to tell me I'm a slayer and I need to go fight demons. Ooh, that'll be fun, I thought. Yes, please do sign me up to be on the front line of a war against the Underworld that I'm completely untrained and unprepared for."

She stopped to look at his face, so peaceful at the moment. The things he must have seen on Z-Day, the memories that must still haunt him. "Something tells me you'd know a bit about that," she smiled.

"So anyway, they lectured me about vampires and demons, offensive and defensive strategy, crash course in weapons and fighting techniques. Which was nice, though, 'cause if some guy starts harassing me at a club I can just knock him unconscious.

"Or I can catch stray pool balls that are heading for my skull. Remind me to bring along a helmet if I ever play pool with you."

The EKG machine continued to beep. "Look, I know that you probably can't hear me, and that you probably won't remember any of this, but I just want to say I'm sorry. There is no reason you should be here. I should have known that she was a vamp. I should have dusted her right there in the pub. But that would have been a bit conspicuous. I'm supposed to be all secretive and stuff.

"Anyway, don't worry, Shaun. You're gonna' be fine. I mean, these are the absolute best doctors. They know what they're doing. They deal with this all the time, y'know. Breakfast, shower, save a vampire victim, lunch, save another vampire victim, spot of tea, check in on first vampire victim. It's what they do."

She sighed, searching for words. "I'm sorry, I know I'm babbling. I tend to do that when I get nervous. Or when I'm around cute guys. Even comatose cute guys, apparently. So, um, I will let you get back to resting and recuperating and I will see you later."

She stopped to consider. "Actually, it's probably better if I don't see you later. So goodbye, Shaun. Take care." She laid his hand gently back down on the bed and left the room.

Shaun continued to recuperate quickly. He still had no idea where he was. Didn't look like a hospital, didn't look like a mental institution, certainly didn't look like a bed and breakfast in Brighton.

Wherever he was, he was being well looked after, fed meals that were too nutritious (and completely lacking in empty carbs) but he resigned himself to eating them anyway. Every so often, someone in a white labcoat would ask how he was feeling and make notes on a clipboard. But they never answered his questions.

Finally two men entered the room who looked as if they might possibly consider answering his questions.

"Hello, Shaun," the younger, red-haired one said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm dyin' for a smoke, but otherwise fine."

"Good, good. My name is William Collins. This is my colleague, Michael Simmonds."

"Okay. You guys ready to tell me why I'm here, wherever here is."

"You're a very lucky man, Shaun."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, in addition to surviving Z-Day under terribly harrowing circumstances, you've survived being drained of several pints of blood by a rather nasty vampire. I'd say you're very lucky."

The events in the alley had gradually come back to him but only in disturbing snippets, sometimes with audio, sometimes without. "I remember being bitten. Things started going dark. There was a girl there..."

"That would be Sara," Will smiled.

"She's one of our operatives," the other man hastened to add. "One of many who have been called to fight a long and dangerous war against the Underworld. Evil, true evil, is alive and well in this city, Shaun. People go about their lives everyday, going to work, buying milk at the shops, drinking pints at the pub. All of them blissfully unaware that any second, any moment could bring them face to face with a gruesome and horrifying death."

Shaun absorbed all this. "So I should cancel my Christmas plans, is that what you're saying?"

"What he's trying to say," Will interrupted, "is that we're in the midst of a war on demons, we're terribly sorry you got caught in the crossfire, please don't sue us."

"Oh, right, why didn't you just say that?"

Will and Michael exchanged glances. He was taking this far too well. "You're sure you're okay with this?"

"Guys, look, I was here on Z-Day. Here! Being menaced by a bloodthirsty legion of the undead. I'm not gonna' get scared by a little nip from one vampire."

"Right. Well, that's good to know."

"Can I go home soon?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely. I'd say tomorrow morning. We'll arrange a cab for you."

"Good, thanks."

Will and Michael exited the room. Once they were safely on the other side of the door, Will observed, "Well, he's not scared of one vampire."

"Indeed," Michael agreed.

"Probably not a good idea to tell him that there are hundreds of vampires in this country and that their numbers are growing everyday?"

"Yes, best not to tell him that."


	4. Strangers in the Night

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or events of the film "Shaun of the Dead." There I said it. Are you happy now? And if you are happy with the story so far, please let me know by submitting a review. I need the validation. Really. **

Shaun had been out of the hospital, or whatever it was, for almost a week. It had been a very surreal experience, much of which he couldn't remember. What he did remember, quite clearly, was having the blood drained out of him by a girl he'd once fooled around with. Was the universe trying to tell him that he should be single? Wasn't there a more subtle way than exsanguination. Vampires? Seriously?

Walking up the sidewalk, he clapped his hand on the familiar fencepost, swung open the gate and trudged up to the front door of his flat. Unlocking the door and walking inside, he almost expected to see Liz come bounding down the stairs, angrily asking where he'd been all this time. But there was nothing but silence to greet him.

He headed out to the garden shed, sat down and picked up the game controller. "Ed, you would not believe the week I've had," he said to the undead hulk beside him, his decaying arms chained to the wall but still able to manipulate the other game controller.

"I got rid of all of Liz's stuff, I went to the pub to shoot some pool, I met this girl that used to work with Liz and she tried to rip out a chunk of my neck. Have you any idea how painful that is?" Ed moaned and sort of nodded in agreement. "Oh, right, guess you do."

Shaun tried his best to go back to work as if everything was normal. He was used to keeping his general paranoia on a low simmer after Z-Day, but now he had a whole new kind of monster to worry about.

He found himself buying more garlic than usual at the store, scanning the room for objects that could be potential stakes, paying even closer attention to reruns of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel." Perhaps he should re-read Bram Stoker's Dracula. Or perhaps just rent the movie.

His old friend Yvonne would call every so often and force him into social interaction, saying that she was worried about his anti-social tendencies. A fellow survivor of Z-Day, she exhibited no signs of post-traumatic stress. She and her boyfriend Declan were still together, still happy, and Shaun hated them a little for it.

It was a Saturday morning when she surprised him with her insistent banging on the front door. He sleepily raised himself off the couch and went to answer it. "Yvonne?"

"Morning, sunshine! What are you up to?"

"Trying to oversleep like everyone else."

"That's no way to spend a Saturday, Shaun." She pushed past him into the hallway. "Dec and I are going to play paintball. You want to come?"

"Frankly, Yvonne, I've got enough real violence in my life. I don't need the simulated kind."

"Are you still hung up about Z-Day, Shaun? That was over a year ago. You should really think about moving on. I mean, it's highly unlikely something like that will ever happen again."

Shaun rolled his eyes and turned away to resume lying down on the couch. "Look, thanks for the invite but I'm not interested."

"Really, Shaun, you should get out. Live a little." Her eyes lit up with what she considered a fabulous idea. "You and Liz could go on holiday. You could come with Dec and me to Ibiza at the end of the month. I bet Liz would really like it there. She's a great girl. You need to take her out more often. You need to show her how much you appreciate her."

"Liz is on holiday, Yvonne," he said. "She's taken a permanent holiday away from me."

"Really?" Yvonne gasped, in somewhat mock surprise. "Well, I never liked her anyway. Seemed a bit high-maintenance if you ask me."

Shaun almost got whiplash from the sudden turnabout in Yvonne's attitude. "I thought you liked her. You just said she was a great girl and I should show her how much I appreciate her."

"I had to say things like that when you were dating her. Now I can say how I really feel. Fully support you in your indignance and vitriol."

"I passed the indignance and vitriol stage a few weeks ago. Now I'm in the 'fantasies about her painful and agonizing death at the hands of rabid Alsatians' stage."

"That's very cruel, Shaun."

"You're telling me. Alsatians show no mercy."

"Well, at least you're making progress. And I think it will help if you come out with me and Dec."

"I don't want to play paintball."

"Then come to the club with us tonight. Maybe you'll meet some nice people. Maybe you'll meet a nice girl and forget all about Liz."

"That's highly unlikely, Yvonne."

"You won't know unless you try. And if you won't come, I'll strap you to a chair and force you to watch 'Star Wars: The Phantom Menace' until you beg for mercy."

Shaun stared up at her in horror. "You are a heartless and cruel woman."

"You coming out then?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," he casually acquiesced.

"It's a place called 'Skin' off the high street. Be there around 9ish. Byee!" she called, letting herself out. Shaun made himself comfortable on the couch and flipped through the channels, hoping to find a marathon of old sci-fi or horror movies with a high count of female casualties.

After dinner, he threw a T-shirt on over a long-sleeved white shirt and paired it with baggy khaki pants. Slipping a green anorak with a high collar over his head, he tried to collect his thoughts and steel himself for the battle ahead.

Clubbing. Not a favorite activity of his. He always felt vastly superior to the pierced teens with hair of unnatural colors that passed for DJs in the local clubs. Worse than that, he would be expected to chat up girls. Which had almost resulted in death the last time. But Yvonne was persistent and he didn't want to face her wrath if he stood her up.

The night air was cold, so he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked briskly. All week, he'd felt as if someone was watching him, following him. Tonight was no different. He stopped and turned quickly to scan the street. No one there.

You're being stupid, he told himself. No one is following you. Now get yourself to the club and get the humiliation over with. He resumed walking.

If I have to wait in line, I'm turning around and going home, he thought. But there was no line. That figures. He walked right in, past several people in dark, skin-tight clothing. Clearly, this generation was still taking its fashion cues from the Matrix trilogy.

Yvonne waved enthusiastically to him from a table in the back. "Hiya, Shaun! So glad you could come! Oh, before you sit down, be a dear and get me another pint."

"Okay," he reluctantly agreed and turned back to the bar. "Two pints, please," he ordered. After fumbling through his pockets for money, he scanned the room. Goths, yuppies, backpackers, bankers in the throes of midlife crises—it was a full selection. A bloodthirsty throng of the undead almost seemed attractive by comparison.

Just then, he noticed raised voices at the end of the bar near the door. The lady was not looking for a dance partner and she had no hesitation in declaring it. She jerked her arm out of the man's hand and walked away.

She came to stand next to Shaun at the bar and ordered cider. A lightning bolt of recognition hit Shaun as the bartender slammed his two pints on the bar. "I know you."

She tucked her brown hair behind her ear and barely met his gaze. "No, I don't think so."

"Yeah, yeah, I do. You're the American girl from the record store. Christ, you're the girl who saved me in the alley!"

She looked as though she wanted to crawl under the bar, under the building, even under the Earth's crust. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said in a low voice, still not looking at him.

"You mean you don't remember killing a vampire that was sucking the life's blood out of me? I suppose you do that all the time?"

"Look, sir, you've got the wrong girl." She looked evenly at him, wanting to make things clear. "I'm just a student. And I should be going home." She abruptly told the bartender to cancel her order and headed for the door. Shaun knew he wasn't wrong. He rushed back to the table, set the glasses down and turned away.

"Wait, where are you going?! You just got here!" Yvonne shouted.

"Sorry, there's someone I need to talk to." He rushed for the door, hoping she hadn't gone far. The cold air hit him again as he left the club. It didn't take long to spot her walking quickly down the street. He ran to catch up with her.


	5. Ashes to Ashes

**DISCLAIMER: Um, did I tell you that I do not own any of the characters of the film "Shaun of the Dead"? Good. Did I tell you that those characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright? Cool. Are we done? Can we go now? It's getting late, and I've got an early-morning meeting...**

Sara walked as quickly as possible along the street, returning to her usual nightly patrol route. How could she have become so careless? Standing right next to him at the bar, practically shouting "Here I am, look at me!"—not a smart move. True, she had been told to keep close watch on Shaun, to make sure there had been no adverse effects on his health or mental stability.

It had gotten to the point where she actually looked forward to her new surveillance mission. There was something charming and humble about his lack of direction. He seemed low-maintenance, even sweet, and she admired that. Maybe her subconscious desire to talk to him had finally won the battle and made her stand next to him at the club.

No, no, no. This wasn't intentional, she assured herself. She was out on her usual patrol. She had just happened to bump into him at the club after escaping from that drunk creep.

"Are you following me?" a male voice at her side demanded. Shaun had suddenly materialized at her side, making her leap sideways smack into a brick wall.

"Jesus, don't scare me like that!" Sara rubbed her sore shoulder, trying to keep calm. This was not supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to have any contact with him. None, zip, zero. Now here she was standing on the street alone with him.

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you," she protested.

"Please, I didn't lose all powers of observation after being attacked" he said. "I have seen you everyday this week. At my work, on the bus, at the pub, and now tonight. I barely saw my ex-girlfriend that much. What is the idea?"

She hesitated, knowing she would be in huge trouble if this ever got back to Will and Michael. She inhaled deeply and faced him. "I wanted to make sure you were okay." Nonchalant concern, that was good. Believable.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"To make sure I was okay."

"Yes, and clearly you are. You're perfectly fine. I mean, you look good. You look really, really good. In fact, I think green is definitely your color. Brings out your eyes."

She felt suddenly uncomfortable. Her heartbeat had increased, her palms were sweaty, her mouth felt as dry as the Sahara. Might as well confirm his suspicions that she was a homicidal lunatic, she berated herself.

She started walking again, but to her dismay, he continued to walk alongside. "Shouldn't you go back to the club? Your friends will be missing you," she offered.

"No, they won't," he countered. "Besides, they were playing Paul Oakenfold. I mean, could you be any more predictable?" he asked indignantly, struggling to keep up with her quick pace. "So this vampire-killing thing, is it a hobby of yours?"

"No, more of a calling, sacred duty, all that jazz."

"Oh, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

"Nooo, it's nothing like Buffy. Well, apart from the fact that I'm a woman, chosen to fight demons, and that I report to a Council of sorts. It's completely and totally different. And I don't even know why I'm talking to you when I have work to do."

"And this work includes checking up on me," he stated slowly, "in a completely and totally official capacity?"

"Exactly," she asserted.

"And not at all because you fancy me."

"I don't—what?"

"I think you fancy me."

"I do not. That is completely absurd."

"Absurd? Well, yeah, it is pretty absurd that you get nervous around cute guys, even comatose ones."

She stopped abruptly and turned bright red. "I thought you couldn't hear me."

"Surprise. I could."

"You heard everything?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Oh, what you must think of me..." She started walking again, not really paying attention to the direction. Just somewhere far away from imminent embarrassment.

"What I think of you?!" Shaun repeated. "I think that you're probably sad and confused and a bit overwhelmed by all this sacred duty stuff. I also think we have that in common. Look, nobody expected me to be the hero on Z-Day. Nobody was counting on me to save their lives, it just kind of happened. But they expect it from you. I mean, that has to be an enormous amount of pressure."

"Yeah, it is."

"And believe me when I say that I understand. I've been there. You can't connect with people, you can't get involved with them, because you'd be putting them in danger. It's the classic superhero dilemma. And frankly, I'm flattered to be the one giving you this dilemma."

She stopped and looked at him in disbelief. "You are not giving me a dilemma," she declared. She briskly walked away again.

"I think I am. I think I am the Mary Jane Watson to your Peter Parker."

"No, you're not."

"Because you don't fancy me."

"No, because you'd look stupid with red hair."

"Ah, so you do fancy me then?" he laughed triumphantly.

"No! Look, maybe you're the Doctor Octopus to my Peter Parker. Did that ever occur to you? Maybe you're trying to insert your steel tentacles into the life that I am quite content with, and rip it apart piece by piece."

"So how long have you had these fantasies about me and my steel tentacle? Tell me exactly, in very vivid detail."

She stopped again, this time to look at their surroundings. How had they veered off course into a warehouse? A warehouse with makeshift beds and boarded-up windows and sewer access. Something was dripping. She noticed a red stain on Shaun's shirt. "You've got red on you." He looked down at the stain, looked at her, and they both looked slowly upwards.

"Oh my God, is that a body?" Shaun cried at the sight of the shape hanging overhead.

"Yeah, it's a fresh kill. We are in a vamp nest, and they must be close by." She rummaged through her backpack. She loaded a crossbow and handed him a cross and a very sharp stake. "Okay, vampire killing 101. Sunlight is unavailable, so it's stakes, beheading, fire. Got it?'

"Got it."

"Stay close to me, and don't do anything stupid."

"Like turning around?"

"Why?"

"Because there are several, menacing-looking people behind you. They could be vampires, I leave it to your professional opinion."

Sara readied her crossbow and turned to face them slowly, keeping her weapon concealed. Shaun followed her lead and kept the cross and stake behind his back. "Sweetie, I told you this wasn't the way to the Tube," she said in an exasperated, fairly convincing Irish accent. "We are so sorry to barge in on you like this. I mean, it's really very rude of us. But you know men. Never asking for directions."

"Nope, never," Shaun joined in, unsure what she was playing at.

"I swear if I left things up to him, we would have never even found our way to London. Remember when you got us lost in Manchester? That was a harrowing experience."

"Definitely harrowing," he agreed. Why was she babbling on like this?

The lead vampire in the middle was baring his teeth. He'd smelled fresh blood. What if he had a particular penchant for Irish blood? Was there really a difference?

The lead vampire finally spoke, his patience tried. "Do you know what they call a couple of lost micks like you around here?" he growled.

"No, what's that?"

"Lunch."

Sara looked at Shaun with a smile. "Oh, isn't that quaint, dear? The things the young people say here. Do you know what they call people like you in my part of town?" She dropped the Irish accent. "Dust."

In one swift movement, she raised the crossbow and fired it, piercing his heart and turning him to ashes.

The other vampires' momentary shocked paralysis gave her time to reload, and Shaun threw a punch at the nearest vamp. Thrown off balance, Shaun managed to push the vamp to the ground and drive the stake through his heart. Well, that was easy, he thought. Then he was tackled violently from behind.

Meanwhile, Sara had fired another arrow but missed. As the vamp lunged at her, she hit him squarely across the jaw with the butt of the now-empty crossbow. That only stopped his momentum briefly. He grabbed her and flung her against a steel column.

She slammed against it, but recovered quickly. Noticing a chain above her head, she pulled herself up as the vamp charged at her. She landed behind him and wound the chain around his neck, pulling hard enough to behead him. Another pile of ashes hit the floor. She looked around for Shaun, but was met with a punch that sent her reeling.

Shaun struggled against the grasp of a female vamp. He was finally able to get an arm free and hold the cross against her cheek. Recoiling from the burning pain, she released him and he was able to turn around. He pushed her backward, as luck would have it, onto a jagged plank of wood.

That was pretty easy, too, he thought as she disintegrated. I mean, if you were a vampire, why would you have stray pieces of wood lying around your home? It's like a death wish. He turned to see his new comrade locked in battle with another vamp.

"Oy, you toothy git!" he called. "Pick on someone your own blood type." He distracted the vamp long enough for Sara to stake him.

"Thanks," she said quickly, fetching her backpack.

"No problem." Was she looking at something behind him? Was there someone behind him? Why was she now aiming an axe at his head?

"Shaun, duck!" He hit the floor as the axe went spinning overhead. He turned to see another pile of ashes as the board the vamp had been carrying clattered to the ground. A piece of wood again!

She ran over to help him up. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Oh, a few cuts and bruises. Nothing I can't handle." They looked around the room to survey the damage. "By the way, I'm Sara," she said with an outstretched hand.

"Oh, hi, I'm Shaun," he replied, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here. Buy you a pint?" she offered.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

They made their way out of the warehouse, Shaun trying to avoid any ash piles. Well, you could never be too careful.


	6. The New Recruit

**DISCLAIMER: Okay, say it with me now. All "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. Everything they do is fried gold. Yeah, boyyeee! Thanks to everyone for their positive feedback so far. **

"Here ya' go, m'lady," Shaun said, setting the overflowing glass of cider on the table in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, settling into the pub chair. The adrenaline from the fight in the vamp nest was quickly wearing off. She started to rethink the wisdom of consuming a liquid depressant in her already weary state, but it was an excuse to sit in a pub and talk with Shaun so why not? She knew she'd pay for it tomorrow back at the office.

"To a successful night of vampire-slaying," Shaun said with a confident grin, holding aloft his pint of bitter. She clinked her glass against his with a tired smile and slumped back into her chair.

"Y'know, Shaun, we're supposed to be incognito," she whispered dramatically.

"Oh, right!" He raised his eyebrows. "Did I say 'vampire-slaying'? I meant...'hamper-weighing'?"

"Nice save."

"Yeah, well, I'm good at thinking on my feet."

"So I see," she observed, remembering his quick action in the fight. "Thanks for your help back there, by the way."

"My pleasure. I'm getting to be pretty good at this 'killing the undead' thing. I think maybe I missed my calling." They both sipped at their respective drinks and listened to the hum of the pub around them. "So how long have you been doing this?"

"Um, couple of years, I guess. Started out in New Orleans, after I graduated from Tulane. That was tough. I mean, Mardi Gras is like happy hour for vamps down there. Then I spent some time in New York, Barcelona, Prague, and then I got the call to come to England."

"Why here? Why now?"

"Our sources say there's a new player in town. Something's happening, something big. The Council knows it's coming. They just don't know when or where."

"So is this gonna' be like...another Z-Day?" he asked hesitantly, a catch in his throat.

"We're trying our best to prevent an epidemic, but there are hundreds of vampires already in the country and no way to contain them."

"Hundreds?"

"And their numbers are growing everyday. Good news is they're not like zombies. You won't automatically become a vampire if you're bitten. Vampires choose who they sire. Bad news is they move a lot faster than zombies."

"What about your family back in the States? Do they know about this?"

"No, no, no. My very paranoid parents were afraid to even let me drive alone at night. They would flip if they knew what their baby daughter was doing. They think I'm studying abroad for my Master's degree. It wasn't a huge surprise to them when I moved to England. I was always obsessed with Monty Python and Jane Austen novels and 80s complaint rock."

"Yeah, I noticed the Smiths playing in the record store that day."

"Absolutely. And sorry about the Avril Lavigne. My boss has been a prat lately, I knew teen pop would keep him locked up in the office and out of my hair."

"I really didn't mind it," he said, trying to sound sincere.

"Of course you did. I saw you wincing. I knew I'd have to change the track lest you think I was an actual fan."

"I wouldn't mind if you were."

"Please," she laughed. "If you for one second believed that I listened to teen pop without any sense of irony, you'd be kicking me to the curb, not buying me drinks."

"I would not kick you to the curb for liking teen pop," he insisted.

"You wouldn't?"

"No, and frankly I'm very offended that you think I could be so judgmental and callous. Because in fact, even if you did like teen pop, I would have had the decency to shag you first and then kick you to the curb."

The abruptness of the comment caused her to spit out her drink as she erupted with laughter.

"No, sunshine, the cider goes in your mouth, not on the table," Shaun advised, laughing with her.

It had been so long since she had spent time talking with someone outside of the Council, enjoying conversation about things non-demonic, not looking over her shoulder for the next danger. It felt normal to be here with him. It felt nice.

"Well, it's good to know chivalry isn't dead," she said happily.

They whiled away the next few hours talking about movies and music and foreign travel and the answer to life, the universe and everything. They had agreed it was 42. When Sara realized that she really needed to be getting home, Shaun escorted her outside.

"Thanks for the drinks," she said. "I had a really nice time. Well, apart from the whole being ambushed by vampires. I could have done without that."

"Oddly enough, it was preferable to a night spent in that awful club," he groaned. "Hey, you saved my life, I buy you a couple pints. That makes us even, right?"

"Totally," she concurred.

Shaun nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another as they stood in awkward silence, neither of them quite sure what to say.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he offered hesitantly. "Wait, what am I saying? You have a small armory in your backpack."

"True. It's not that far, I'll be fine. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Well, um, take care of yourself. Try not to get killed or anything," he blurted, with instant regret. "I mean, you seem like a nice girl. It would be a shame if you...y'know, died."

Sara stifled a laugh. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she said with a smile. "You seem like a good guy, Shaun. I don't meet many of those."

"We are a dying breed."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed. "Take care of yourself, Shaun. No more going into dark alleys with strange women, okay?"

"No, absolutely not. Been there, done that, got the hideous scar. I promise I'll be careful."

"Thank you. Good night, Shaun."

"G'night! Bye!"

She turned and walked away. He stood and watched until she disappeared into the fog, then started his own walk home.

The next morning, Sara was drinking chai tea and trying not to show that she had a hangover while Michael lectured her on the strict rules of not having any contact with victims under surveillance, followed by a lecture on the foolishness of going into a vamp nest without back-up. She insisted that Shaun had been her back-up, a surprisingly effective one.

Michael leaned back in his immense leather chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, looking thoughtful. "I'm glad you mentioned that, Sara, because I'm thinking of recruiting him."

Sara almost did another spit-take. This was becoming an unfortunate trend. "What? Shaun?"

"Yes, Shaun. You need reinforcements, Sara. Will agrees with me."

She turned an accusatory glare at Will, at which he grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Look, I've got reinforcements," she insisted. "That's the whole perk of being a special ops wing of the Catholic Church. Unlimited monetary resources and manpower."

"True, but you can't be everywhere. And one of these days you'll get careless and you'll get killed."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, chief."

"In light of what transpired last night," Will interjected, "perhaps Sara just doesn't want to mix business with pleasure."

"Shaun has absolutely nothing to do with my pleasure!" she cried. "Okay, that came out wrong." She retreated back into the office chair.

"And do you recall her dalliance with David the werewolf?" Will continued. "That almost cost us our lives in Prague."

"Hey, he was a perfectly nice guy most days of the month. How many women can say that about _you_?" she countered. "Anyway, you're one to talk."

"Me? What have I done?" he protested.

"Always finding some excuse to talk to the new librarian. Oh, Lex, did that book on Sumerian burial rights come in? Lex, can you help me with this Latin translation? I'd be ever so grateful."

"Alexandra is a highly intelligent, perfectly capable woman who is a definite asset to the Council," he recited in a completely professional manner.

Sara smirked. "She shot you down, huh?"

"Crashed and burned. Beyond recognition."

"Quiet, both of you!" Michael reprimanded. "Now Shaun has already proven his worth in a fight against the undead."

"Yeah, well, zombies move a bit slower than vamps," Sara said dismissively.

"But they're no less lethal. He survived where a lot of other people didn't. I think it's worth extending an invitation to join our ranks."

"Are you okay with this?" Will asked Sara.

She considered. "Well, he was a big help in that vamp's nest."

"Good. Then it's settled," Michael declared. "You and Will will train him. I'll send a car to bring him here. Remember, everyone needs to be battle-ready by the Lunar Eclipse."

As high noon dawned on Crouch End, Shaun woke up to intrusive sunlight through the window and insistent knocking on the front door. He'd collapsed on the downstairs couch again, not having the energy to go upstairs. His head ached; he had to make that knocking stop. "Yvonne, I am not interested," he said emphatically as he opened the door.

But it wasn't Yvonne on the front step. It was that tall red-headed man from the hospital. "Mr. Riley, good afternoon!" Will greeted him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to extend an invitation to you, Mr. Riley. Sara told us how helpful you were last night. We wondered if you might be interested in being of service to us again." He gestured to a gleaming black Jaguar parked in the street.

Shaun laughed. "Wait, wait, hang on! You want me to be some full-time demon fighter? Have you any idea how much I have been through in the past year? Everything with Z-Day, losing my mum, my stepdad, my roommates. Then my girlfriend dumps me. Then I become vampire food in an alley," he ranted breathlessly.

"Mr. Riley, I do understand your reluctance—"

"No, mate, you don't. Sorry, but I'm done dealing with the undead."

"Look, Shaun, Sara would never admit it, but she needs help. If it hadn't been for you, she would have died last night. We need all the allies we can get."

"You mean you need more cannon fodder in this supposed war against the Underworld," Shaun said with contempt. "Sara's a nice girl, I'd love to help her, but I'm not planning to enlist." He started to close the door.

"You'll let innocent people die without even trying to save them?" Will demanded. "Because that is what's happening, Shaun. People are dying all around you. You can't just close your eyes and wish it would go away. Last time, you tried to do something about it. There must still be some desire in you to make things right. And let's face it, you seem to have a natural knack for this job."

Shaun looked at him with doubt. Did he really want to play the hero again? Doing so had had such disastrous results the last time. Why should this time be any different? The difference, he then realized, was that he now had nothing left to lose. "Are you gonna' pay me?"

"There is...some amount of compensation. Health benefits. Affordable accommodations in any of our affiliated countries. Discount tickets to the Barbican. And use of the company car."

"Right, show me where to sign up." Shaun grabbed his jacket and followed Will to the car.

About a half-hour later, the car pulled up to a large Gothic building somewhere in West London. They weren't far from Parliament and Scotland Yard, Shaun noted. Wonder if that was intentional. The car entered an underground parking deck. Will and Shaun exited the car, and Will used his security card to enter the building thru a set of large metal doors. A journey up a winding flight of stairs led them to the Neoclassical lobby of the Council's headquarters, flooded with sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Welcome to HQ," Will said.

"Blimey, this is a nice place," Shaun gasped.

"Well, we did get rather a lot of funding from King Charles II."

A man and a woman walked down the grand staircase to join them.

"You've already met Michael," Will said as an introduction, "and I believe you're...acquainted with Sara."

"Hello again, Shaun" she said with a smile.

"Welcome, Mr. Riley," Michael said with an outstretched hand. "We're very glad you've decided to join us. We've not a moment to lose. We'll talk later. For now, we need you to start your lessons with Will and Sara."

Shaun was led up the staircase to the training rooms on the second floor. A wide, brightly-lit expanse filled with the normal trappings of a health gym (weight machines, punching bags) but also gleaming, sometimes unindentifiable weaponry hanging from nearly every wall. Will proudly launched into his promotional speech about the state-of-the-art training facility that they had built here at the London branch under his supervision. Potential slayers from all the over the world would plead to do their training here.

Shaun was feeling a bit overwhelmed. "Look, do we have time for tea? Or at least a smoke break?" He took a pack out of his pocket and lit one of the cigarettes.

"Okay," Sara started. "Lesson 1: No smoking."

"Why not? Look, this is a clever incendiary device. Fire equals bad, right?"

"That is a cigarette." She removed it from his mouth and stamped it out under her foot. "Lesson 2..." She launched a high kick at Shaun's head, which he instinctively dodged, but then she spun around to kick his legs out from under him, dropping him to the floor.

"Ow! What'd did you do that for?"

"Vampires are demons, and demons don't fight fair," she explained, offering her hand to help him to his feet. "You can't predict their movements so it's useless to try. You have to be able to think quickly and act even more quickly." Without warning, she tried a backhand punch at his head, which he managed to block by catching her arm. "Nicely done."

"Are all the lessons going to be this abusive?"

"Honey, we're just getting warmed up."

For the next few days, Shaun felt like a combination of Neo from "The Matrix," Rocky Balboa, and Uma Thurman from "Kill Bill." Only with a lot more bruises and possible damage to internal organs. He was drilled in stake-throwing, sword fighting, kickboxing. He was forced to sit through lectures on recognizing vampires and other demons, attack and defense strategies, dealing with victims and civilians, explaining things to the local police.

He and Sara amused each other during these times by writing song lyrics on each other's notebook pages. It was after he'd read the words, "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you," that Michael walked into the room with an uncharacteristic look of urgency.

"It's time," he said succinctly. "We've traced the point of origin for the vampires. Davrok Sakkari."

"Davros?" Shaun asked. "Like the guy who created the Daleks on 'Doctor Who'?"

"No, Shaun," Michael corrected. "Davrok."


	7. Introductions and Explanations

**DISCLAIMER: All "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg (who is quite simply the sweetest and coolest guy EVER). He just might have moved higher on my list than Ioan Gruffudd, and that is a big achievement. If you knew the depths of my devotion to Ioan Gruffudd, you would understand. I mean, Simon has given me "virtual" kisses on the Shaun Squad message board. Mr. Gruffudd, what are you going to do to get back to the top of my list? Flowers, chocolate, a cameo as your mistress in the next "Horatio Hornblower" movie?**

**Why, yes, I do prefer the warmth of delusions to cold, hard reality. Is that so wrong? Oh, and all "Star Wars" characters belong to George Lucas, as if you didn't already know that. Please don't sue me, Mr. Lucas. Big thanks to the PeggLeggs for making cameo appearances in this story. You all remembered to sign that pesky legal waiver, right? **

In an ornately furnished flat on the south side of the Thames, a dark figure stood at the window and looked out at the river. He loved watching the way the moonlight shimmered and danced on the black waves. It reminded him of war, the swing of swords glinting in the heat of battle, the glow of arrows as they gracefully arced through the still night air. But then, everything reminded him of war in some way. It was all he'd ever known. War, and the immense wealth and power that it brought.

The world he now found himself in was weak, mired in murky alliances and crippling doubt, afraid to take the necessary actions to effect change. But he would soon make life much simpler for these conflicted mortals. The world would be black and white: you were with him, or you were dead.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed the sound of a lock turning and the front door opening. The human, the weasel-like professor who had revived him, had returned home. No need to bother acknowledging this parasite. He continued to look out at the water.

The professor huffed in indignation as he entered the hallway, having to step over the body of a courier left drained of blood on the floor. "I trust you enjoyed the take-away."

"He was too salty," the figure in the window answered.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. But in future, could you stop leaving your leftovers on my Persian rug?" Professor Malcolm Ryland tossed his keys onto a side table and placed his briefcase by the door. He removed the glasses from his blue eyes and exhaustedly rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Really, Davrok, I did awaken you from several centuries of tortured slumber. I don't think a little common courtesy is too much to ask."

The figure turned from the window with a low growl. "I grow tired of waiting. My force is strong enough to take this city. I have more important concerns than courtesy."

"As I've told you before, you must wait. Prophecies can be tricky things, but this one clearly states that nothing can happen until the lunar eclipse. In the meantime, you must continue to add to your legion of undead foot soldiers."

"My children continue to multiply by the hour. Like lambs to the slaughter, these foolish mortals."

"Well, I'm afraid you've a few less children now. There was an attack on a vamp nest, five gone in quick order. The number of casualties on our side continues to grow at an alarming rate."

"How is this possible?"

"I have reason to believe that there's a slayer in town. Maybe more than one."

"Slayer? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Well, they have this pesky way of being convert and secretive. It could be one person, it could be an army brigade. Whatever they are, they know our weaknesses. And once they find out about you, they will come after you with guns blazing."

"Let them come," he laughed sinisterly. "Whoever these slayers are, they will live to regret they ever heard the name Davrok."

Meanwhile, across the river, Will, Sara and Shaun assembled in Michael's office as he began to explain about the enemy they had now identified.

"Davrok was a particularly ruthless Ottoman prince who led one of the Turkish ruler's cavalries during the Crusades. When it began to look like Richard's armies were winning, he turned traitor and joined up with the Westerners in present-day Serbia. He led many successful and bloody campaigns against his former countrymen. Some attributed his success to a deal with the devil, a mystical pact with the Eastern European gypsies, or perhaps just forward-thinking military strategy. At any rate, his lust for blood was insatiable.

"He was finally captured by the Ottomans. But no amount of torture would break him. So the story is that they 'converted' him, into what we could call a vampire, and sent him back to the Western armies with the Turkish shah's regards. The now-vampiric Davrok decimated whole units of King Richard's armies. He was finally stopped by a Gypsy curse and entombed in a casket of their making, sealed with a binding spell to keep him locked up for eternity.

"That casket arrived in this country a few weeks ago, part of a shipment of Serbian artifacts delivered to the British Museum. Someone opened it, and now Davrok is starting to rebuild his army."

"Was it opened by accident?" Sara asked.

"No, we're fairly certain that it was intentional," Michael replied. "A security guard was reported missing at the British Museum on the night we think Davrok was awakened. Security footage shows a Mr. Paul Watts signing in for work that morning, but never signing out. And the last person to leave the museum that night was a Professor Malcolm Ryland."

"Ryland is an expert on Yugoslavia and its former republics," Will added. "He would likely be able to translate the markings on the casket."

"Why would he do that? Why would he free some tyrannical Turkish twat?" Shaun inquired.

"Money, power, immortality, a BMW convertible," Will conjectured. "Ryland probably figures if he helps ol' Davrok unleash Armageddon, he'll get something valuable out of it."

"We find Ryland, we find Davrok," Sara suggested.

"Exactly." Michael handed files to Will and Sara. "Will, I want you to check Ryland's flat in Southwark. Sara, you and Shaun check in on the professor at work. University of London."

Shaun followed Sara through the labyrinthine building to the underground parking garage where Sara picked out her dark green Mini Cooper. She then drove the car out of the garage and headed east until she made a stop outside a building in Whitechapel.

Shaun knew this wasn't the university. "Why are we here?" he asked.

"I need some supplies from my flat," she answered, exiting the car. "If this guy's so keen on starting up a vampire army, I don't want to get ambushed again."

"Good point." Shaun followed her up the steps to her flat on the second floor.

She unlocked the door and dramatically waved him in. "Home sweet home."

"It's...nice," he commented, entering the bare one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and poor excuse for a living room.

"Well, it's a place to sleep," she sighed, crossing to a large wooden chest in her bedroom and pulling out wooden stakes, bottles of holy water, crossbows, large axes, small axes, a spiked mace.

"You must be loads of fun on a date," Shaun observed of the weapons cache, then continued to scan the room. The decorating was very minimalist. He supposed she hadn't been in the country long enough to accumulate many possessions. He did notice several movie posters in addition to a TV and couch. No chick lit books, no aromatherapy candles, no family photos, no photos of her smiling on a beach with some tan git. That was promising.

And on the shelf of a bookcase, shining out like a beacon, a collection of action figures. Not just any action figures, mind you. The original Star Wars action figures. Han, Leia, Darth Vader in his original vinyl cape, a speeder bike with a Storm Trooper at the controls, even an X-wing fighter with Luke in the cockpit.

"Nice, aren't they?" she said proudly, over his shoulder. Shaun was quite speechless. "I foolishly took them out of the packaging and played with them when I was a kid, so they don't have a tenth of the value they could. But I still like having them."

"Absolutely," he confirmed. "Remind me to break in while you're out and steal them."

"Yeah, and remind me to put you back in a coma," she countered with a smile. "I dunno, they're sort of my security blanket. Maybe someday I'll have a cool niece to pass them on to."

"You don't plan to have kids?"

"I can barely make it through a blind date without being paged to deal with an apocalyptic emergency," she quipped, with restrained annoyance. "Besides, a slayer's way of life is not terribly conducive to marriage and family. There's the unpredictable work hours, the dangerous weapons lying about, and the whole shortened life expectancy. Plus the only guys I meet lately wouldn't be able to walk on a beach with me in the daylight."

"Granted, that is true. But not all men are averse to sunlight. I mean, I'm sure there's a guy out there somewhere that could handle it."

"You think?"

"Yeah, like he'd make sure you never ran out of holy water. And he'd have dinner waiting when you came home after a long night of demon-fighting."

"And he'd be good at getting blood stains out of my clothes."

"Exactly."

"Well, if you ever meet such a guy, give him my number. In the meantime, we gotta' go look for some bad guys." She slung the fully-loaded backpack over her shoulder. To Shaun's dismay, she didn't let him have any of the toys from the trunk. "Oh, one more thing." She ran into the bathroom and returned with a can of hairspray.

"What's that for? Are vamps afraid of aerosol now?" he scoffed.

"No, no, no. What did we learn from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'?" she asked.

"That Willow Rosenberg could conceivably be hotter than Dana Scully," Shaun asserted.

"No. Well, apart from that. You got a lighter?"

"Uh, yeah." He foraged through his pockets and tossed it to her.

She demonstrated how the hairspray can became a mini-blowtorch with help from the lighter. "The slayer shall be known by her keen fashion sense," she quoted. "Now let's go."

Shaun followed her down the stairs. But she abruptly paused on the steps as a door on the first floor opened, and Shaun almost ran into her.

"Sara!" cried the redhead from the open door. "I'm so glad I caught you."

"Jessica!" Sara greeted. "How are you?"

"Peachy," she smiled. "I'm supposed to give you a message from Marcia. She wants to make sure you're not late on the rent again."

"I won't be."

"We hardly ever see you anymore. Has your new friend been keeping you out at all hours of the night?" Jessica asked, looking at Shaun with inviting blue eyes.

"This guy? No, this is Shaun. Shaun, Jessica. Jessica, Shaun."

"Hi," he said eloquently.

"Hello, Shaun. Haven't seen you around before. How do you know Sara?"

"Well, we sort of...um..." he stammered, looking to Sara for assistance.

"We met in the pub," she said quickly. "Shaun almost hit me in the head with a cue ball."

"That's nice and subtle," Jessica remarked. "Slick, did you hear that?" she called to someone inside the flat. "Sara's met someone. I always told you she just needed a good smack upside the head."

"Sara's got a boyfriend!" another female voice cried.

"Oh, God," Sara moaned under her breath in despair and turned away. The front door was so close. She could make a run for it right now. Frankly, she doubted if Shaun would follow. It wouldn't be the first time an unsuspecting man had been lured behind the door of 3A.

A tall blonde appeared in the doorway next to Jessica. "Is this your new boyfriend, Sara?" Slick inquired. "He's so cute, in a slacker kind of way. Where did you find him?"

"We met in the pub," Shaun replied, with a smile to Sara. "Sara was knocked out by my skills with a pool cue."

The two women laughed flirtatiously. "You're so funny, Shaun," Jessica enthused. "Not like those losers Sara's usually with. All dark suits and dreary looks."

"We were beginning to think she was an escort for undertakers," Slick said, and the two women erupted in laughter again. Shaun started to laugh but abruptly stopped when he saw the look on Sara's face and remembered just how much weaponry she was carrying.

"Y'know, we're having some friends over later for drinks. You should join us," Jessica offered.

"Come on, it'll be a laugh," Slick pleaded.

"Shaun and I already have plans for tonight," Sara said decisively.

"But maybe if we get back early, we could stop by," Shaun said.

"We'll hold you to that," Jessica purred. "I mean, you're already dressed for the occasion. But Sara, you might want to change into something that didn't come out of a Land's End catalog."

"Thanks for the fashion tip, Jess, but we should really be going." Sara grabbed Shaun's arm and pulled him toward the door.

Slick added, "Stop by anytime! You guys have fun tonight!"

"Bye, Sara! See you later, Shaun!" Jessica called.

Sara practically pushed Shaun out the door and down the steps.

"What?! What did I do?" he protested. "I was trying to be nice to your neighbors."

"Could you wipe off your chin before you get in my car? I don't want drool on my upholstery."

"I was not drooling."

"Yes, you were. Like all men do over the women of 3A. Just because they're tall redhead and blond bombshells with hourglass figures and a penchant for guys with goatees."

"Really?"

"Just get in the car, Shaun."

He complied, correctly assuming that it was best not to argue with her.


	8. A Fallen Soldier

**DISCLAIMER: Okay, you know that new song "Go Vertigo" by U2? Now I realize that high-school Spanish was a long time ago, but I'm pretty sure that Bono is saying "1, 2, 3, 14" at the beginning of the song. It's pretty difficult to confuse "cuatro," or the number 4, with "catorce," the number 14. And what in the samhill does "Go Vertigo" mean anyway? Sorry, but that was bugging me.**

**As you probably already gathered, I don't own any of the "Shaun of the Dead" characters. But I do have the pleasure of owning a signed letter from the amazing Simon Pegg which he sent in response to a fan letter. Yippee! Simon is officially the coolest guy ever. Sorry, Ioan Gruffudd, but you've been replaced at the top of my celebrity crush list. Please accept your severance package, clear out your desk, and don't let me catch you stealing office supplies either. **

The Mini Cooper sped off toward the University of London, Sara taking the speed limit as more of a suggestion than a strict rule. Once they arrived, she parked illegally on the street, hoping she'd be back before any constables came around. She and Shaun asked the registrar for the location of Professor Ryland's office. With the help of a campus map, they found the right building and started to climb the stairs to the fourth floor.

"So when we find this guy, do we go for the 'good cop, bad cop' routine?" Shaun asked.

"No, I pretty much stick with the 'asking questions, hitting in the face' routine."

"And that works for you?"

"Quite well, actually."

Will was not having the same navigational luck. He circled and circled through the streets of Southwark till he finally found Ryland's flat. Parking his Saab across the street, he exited the car. He considered taking one of the weapons he kept stashed in the boot (or "trunk," as Sara would say), but dismissed the thought. This was just a man, after all. Even if Ryland was at home, Will just wanted to ask him some questions. If he indeed had nothing to do with Davrok, Will would feel pretty foolish charging in with a loaded crossbow.

He pulled up the collar of his grey trenchcoat and hurried across the street up to the front door of the building. He picked the lock of the door and entered the common hallway. He proceeded upstairs to Ryland's flat on the third floor. Picking the lock of its door, Will stepped slowly and quietly into the room. It was an open and airy flat with a breathtaking view of the Thames. He wondered how much this place must cost. Furnished and decorated with artifacts and antiques from every corner of the world, it vaguely reminded him of his own childhood home in Devonshire.

"Now if I were incriminating evidence, where would I be?" he whispered under his breath, surveying the room. There was a makeshift office in the corner by the window. He decided to start with the desk and then the laptop that sat on its surface. Lesson plans, bank statements, credit card receipts, passport, travel guides. Nothing there.

"Can I help you with something?" The polished, articulate voice came from in front of him.

Will lifted his head slowly to face Ryland. "Ah, Professor Ryland, this probably looks a bit odd."

"A bit, yes."

"You're probably wondering why I, a complete stranger, am rifling through your desk."

"The thought had occurred to me." Ryland moved to stand behind the desk, so Will retreated back toward the center of the room. "Are you from the museum?"

"Uhh, yes, actually."

"No doubt looking for your lost casket," Ryland sighed, starting to straighten out the papers on the desk with a look of frustration. "I've already told you people a hundred times that I didn't take it."

"Right, yes. But you can understand the museum's concern in finding it. The casket is a priceless artifact."

"The casket is merely a box. A simple structure of wood and metal. What was in it is far more valuable."

"I see. And would you mind telling me what was in it?"

Ryland smirked. "I'll do better than that. I'll show you."

Will felt a presence behind him. He turned to face a large, muscular figure clad in armor, holding a broadsword in his armor-plated gloves. "Allow me to introduce Davrok Sakkari."

Davrok plunged the sword into Will's abdomen, and he cried out in agony.

"You're not really from the museum, are you, Mr. Collins?" Ryland asked, calling him by name as he moved to stand by his side. "In fact, I think that you're from the Council. A bunch of bleeding-heart do-gooders sent by the Catholic Church to battle evil. Am I right?"

Will shook his head, despite the pain.

"It's no good, you know. Sure, you and your slayers might have killed a few of our vampires. But there are more, and there will be more. This city has never known the devastation that we will wreak upon it. The streets will be awash with the blood of those who will not submit to the rule of Davrok. Starting with yours..."

Davrok withdrew the sword. Will sank to the floor, blood pouring from the open wound in his torso and through to his back. He tried futilely to cover the wound with his arm as his breath grew slow and labored. The color quickly began to fade from his already pale complexion. It couldn't end like this, could it? His work couldn't be over, could it? He realized sadly that he didn't get a vote in the matter. At least death would bring an end to the pain. Just make the pain stop, that would be his last request. Grant me only that, he pleaded.

"That's another Persian rug you've ruined," Ryland groaned, kneeling to check the man's pulse.

"He knew nothing. He had no value," Davrok proclaimed, almost upset at staining his sword with useless blood.

"On the contrary," Ryland said, after searching Will's pockets and finding his security pass to the Council. "He may have given us the most precious gift of all."

Meanwhile, Sara and Shaun, having picked the lock of Ryland's office were also fumbling through desk drawers and filing cabinets. "If Ryland removed the casket from the museum, maybe there's a receipt for a moving truck or a storage unit," Sara conjectured.

"Or maybe he's keeping it in his basement."

"That casket weighs several tons, Shaun. He wouldn't have been able to move it himself, and it certainly wouldn't have fit in his car."

"Maybe he already has some vampire-wannabe disciples helping him out. Y'know, they each take turns baby-sitting the coffin week to week," he said, flipping through a day-planner. "Well, I don't see 'take over the world' marked on his calendar. Any other ideas?"

"I'm not even sure what we're looking for," she sighed. "This place is spotless, the guy must be obsessive-compulsive. You'd think he'd have the decency to have a file marked 'Incriminating Evidence.' Maybe Will's having better luck at the guy's flat."

Shaun began examining the many bookshelves. "Y'know, just for the record, I happen to like the way you dress."

"What?"

"The whole Land's End look—it suits you."

She briefly glanced down to remind herself that she was wearing her usual boot-cut jeans and a burgundy V-neck sweater over a T-shirt. "Oh, that. Well, one of the perks of this job is no dress code."

He turned to her and crossed his arms. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Someone tries to pay you a compliment and you make a joke, you deflect it. It's like your self-esteem is dying of hunger but you won't feed it."

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "I'm sorry? Is this residual therapy I'm hearing? Did Liz actually make you go to couples counseling?"

"Occasionally," he muttered, with a shrug.

"After all you went through on Z-Day, and then she wants to drag you in front of a complete stranger to discuss your private relationship problems? And I'm guessing those problems were always your fault."

"Sometimes."

"Did Liz ever accept any responsibility? At all?"

"Look, you don't know her," he protested half-heartedly.

"She dumped you, Shaun. Why would you waste your breath defending her?" Sara argued. "I may not know her, but I know her type. And I know it's women like her that make men assume that we're all scheming, manipulative, soul-draining sirens."

"Wait, didn't we have a lecture on soul-draining sirens?"

"Yes, they're called succubi," she recited. "Anyway, we're on the clock. Could we dabble in the psychobabble later?"

"Fine," Shaun replied sulkily, turning back to the bookshelves, "as long as you don't mind denying your inner child the acceptance and support it so desperately longs for..." Moving on to the next shelf, he managed to find a journal on the bookshelf, a strange foreign language written on the pages. "Hang on, I might have something." He brought the book over to her. "Does that writing look Serbian to you?"

"Indeed it does. If we get this back to the Council, maybe Lex can translate it. Maybe there's some way to re-apply the binding spell after it's been broken." Sara got out her cell phone and called Michael to tell them what they'd found.

"Well done, Sara. I haven't heard back from Will yet. Maybe you should get over there and see if he's found anything."

"Okay, we're on our way." She hung up the phone, and she and Shaun left the office, careful to put everything back the way they'd found it.

Across the river, a silver BMW pulled up to the Council building. Professor Ryland used Will's security pass to gain access through the gate that faced the street. Davrok made short work of the stunned security guard who had left his booth to investigate the unfamiliar car. They placed his body in the trunk and proceeded into the darkness of the garage. They waited for Davrok's vampire henchmen to join them after sunset as they had been hastily ordered. Ryland had decided that once the opportunity presented itself, it couldn't be passed up.

Dozens and dozens of vampires began to stream into the garage, their yellow eyes glowing brighter than the dim lighting. They waited patiently for instruction from their master.

Once they had assembled, Ryland strolled up to the front desk in the expansive lobby of the Council. "Hello, I'm Professor Malcolm Ryland. I used to do some consulting work here."

"Yes, Professor Ryland," the long-haired blond receptionist smiled. "How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if I could speak with Michael Simmonds."

"Mr. Simmonds is quite busy, but if you'd like to leave a message—"

"I'm afraid this is a very urgent matter, miss. It is imperative that I speak with him right away. It's about the recent killings here in town. I have an informant who might prove useful."

"An informant?"

"Yes, but you see he's a...well, he's a vampire," he whispered. "He's very concerned that his identity be withheld. Otherwise he would face retribution from the vampire community."

"Is he willing to come in and speak with Mr. Simmonds?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, he's here with me. But you see, if he comes in the building, he'll set off the vampire detectors and bring himself a lot of unwanted attention."

"I see. I'll let security know to disable the alarms and then you can bring him in." She made a brief call, then put the phone down and looked back at him with the smile. "The alarms are temporarily disabled. He can come in whenever he likes."

"That is most kind of you. I wonder if you could lead me to the parking garage access door."

"Certainly, sir, it's just down this corridor." She got up from behind the desk and walked toward the hallway.

"Thank you, you've been most helpful." As he stepped forward to follow her, he grabbed the side of her head and snapped her neck. She sank to the floor. Ryland moved quickly to the garage access and opened the metal doors, looking out on the sea of vampires that greeted him, Davrok at the head of the quickly-assembled army.

"Won't you come in, Davrok?" he said. "But remember, leave the library to me."

"What of the humans we find?"

"Wipe them out...all of them," he ordered.


	9. Retribution

**DISCLAIMER: Once upon a time, there were two men named Simon and Edgar. They were very talented and very cute, and they lived in a place called England. One day, they decided to write a movie called "Shaun of the Dead," and it made everyone happy. And then a young woman from the southern United States decided to hijack their characters and use them to her own evil purposes. Okay, her purposes weren't exactly evil. More like mildly malicious. But we're definitely not talking sunshine and goodness, bunnies and kittens here. Enjoy!**

Sara was feeling very uneasy as they approached the building in Southwark. Will's car was still parked on the street, a lock applied to its tire by a friendly neighborhood bobby. Shaun led the way into the building and up the stairs. The door to Ryland's flat was open. This can't be good, Shaun thought.

The flat was lit only by moonlight flooding in from the windows. The many artifacts in the room took on an eerie, sinister appearance. As he scanned the room, he saw what seemed to be a person lying on the floor in front of a desk in the corner.

"Will?" Sara called. She ran over to the man lying on the rug. "Oh my God, no! Please, no! Will?"

Shaun walked slowly closer and knelt beside the body. There was so much blood. The skin was cold to the touch and there was no pulse when Shaun touched his wrist. "Sara, he's gone," he said softly.

"No! He is not gone! Will? Will, don't do this! Don't leave me!" She was sobbing hysterically. Shaun knew there was nothing he could do. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she slapped it away harshly.

He stepped away to the desk and did the only thing he could think of: call for an ambulance. Sara continued to cry, holding her deceased friend in her arms. Shaun knew what she must feel, but he also knew it wasn't safe to be there. "Sara, please. We need to get out of here. Whatever did this might still be here."

"Shaun, you and I both know who did this." She managed to restrain her sobs. Gently, she put her hand on Will's face to close his open, fearful eyes and lowered his body to the floor. Shaking, she rose to her feet. When she looked up at Shaun, it wasn't tears in her eyes. It was pure, unadulterated rage.

Unbeknownst to Sara and Shaun, more people were dying across the river at the Council building. Davrok's army had massacred whomever they'd found. Some of the humans had been able to escape when they grasped the severity of the situation, but the majority of the Council's workforce had been forced into permanent retirement.

Just the way Ryland had wanted it. He allowed himself a quick smile of satisfaction before returning his attention to the laptop. It seemed to have belonged to the Council's librarian; she was working on a translation of the prophecy he'd already unlocked.

"What have you found?" Davrok asked, casually wiping blood from his sword.

"Apparently they were trying to translate the same prophecy. Bit late for that," he smirked. "Anyway, there's a mistake in the translation. Even if they tried to stop what's coming, they'd be going about it the wrong way."

"The wrong way?"

"Yes. This prophecy says that the next lunar eclipse will bring about an age of permanent darkness in which the world will be controlled by the soul-less demons who walk the night. This catastrophic event is brought about by shedding the blood of the troubled woman in white."

"And?"

"That's where they got it wrong. Ancient Sanskrit was never known for being literal. It's not the troubled woman in white, it's the warrior woman in light," Ryland explained. "The Slayer, the defender of all things good and pure against all things evil and dark. They'll send her to save an innocent victim from being sacrificed, when they don't realize that she is the sacrifice."

"We must go find this Slayer."

"Patience, Davrok. If we wait, the Slayer will come right to us."

The green Mini Cooper came to an abrupt stop in a seedy part of town. Shaun felt very uneasy. Actually, he was nearing petrified, if he had to be honest with himself. Sara grabbed her bag and opened the car door.

"Why are we here?" Shaun inquired.

"It's a bar for the Underworld crowd. They know what's going on, I'm going to go get some answers." She exited the car and slammed the door shut.

Shaun followed her onto the sidewalk. "Wait, wait. Just hold on a second. You want to go into a bar for demons and ask them about who killed Will."

"Yes, is there a flaw in my plan?"

"The one minor flaw being that it's suicide. Sara, you've been killing their kind for weeks now. They're not gonna' roll out a red carpet for you."

He took hold of her shoulders to make sure he got the point across. "Look, I know that what happened to Will tonight...it was a shock. I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now. But you need to just step back and think about this. Seriously, getting yourself killed is not going to bring him back. And it won't get you any closer to finding out who killed him."

"I already know who killed him," she snapped, breaking free of his grasp. "Now somebody in that room knows where Davrok is, and they're going to tell me."

"Sara, I can't let you do this. I can't go with you into a room where certain death awaits."

"You're right, Shaun. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For this." She delivered a right hook to his chin that knocked him out. Catching him before he hit the sidewalk, she returned him to the passenger seat of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition in case he needed to make a quick getaway. She turned and descended the narrow stairs to the door of the club. She stood and looked at the nondescript metal door before her, unsure if she would ever come back out once she'd passed through it. And frankly at this point, she didn't really care.

Sara kicked open the door and with her crossbow, fired an arrow into the jukebox. Sparks flew as the song came to a stop. Seconds later, this event registered with the club's demon patrons, and they stopped their conversations, their drinking, their game of darts. An uneasy silence filled the dark, smoky room.

Reloading the crossbow and stepping onto a chair, she climbed on top of the nearest table and yelled, "All right, ladies and demons, it's last call at the bar. I suggest anyone who isn't a vampire get out now. While you still have all your appendages."

No one moved.

"This offer of asylum expires in ten seconds," she continued. Still no one moved.

"What are you gonna' do, little girl?" a demon at her feet growled.

She looked down at him and wordlessly pulled a dagger from her belt, plunging it between his eyes. His violet eyes glazed over, and he fell over backward in his chair to the floor.

"Any other stupid questions?"

The assembled demons looked at each other, then collectively decided to head for the exit. But not the vampires. They knew they had a slayer in their midst and they knew they couldn't let her leave the bar alive.

"So let's talk, you overgrown mosquitoes," she hissed, stepping down from atop the table. "A friend of mine was killed tonight. I'm trying to track down a suspect. Big Turkish bloke, pointy teeth, wrinkly forehead, goes by the name of Davrok. You guys know where I might find him?"

"We ain't tellin' you nuffink," a young punk vampire growled.

"Wrong answer." A spring-loaded stake sprang from its holster on her right wrist and seconds later, the vamp was dust. One down, about a dozen more to go, she observed. Not the most desirable odds. "Anyone else?"

The vampires who were seated rose to their feet and moved closer. Sara stood her ground, her eyes quickly glancing around the room for other weapons, her initial bravado beginning to fade in the face of almost certain death. Time to plot a course of action, she thought to herself. Her one goal: try not to die. After all, Uma Thurman had killed way more guys than this in _Kill Bill_; problem was, this was real.

With a growl, two vamps lunged at her, one after another. She snatched a pool cue off the table and ran both of them through with it. As the dust settled, she spun the stick and whammed it into the head of an oncoming vamp, throwing him off-balance. She pulled a stake from the holster on her leg and plunged it into his heart. Another vamp grabbed her from behind and slammed her face-first onto the pool table. She threw her head back, slamming him in the face, then turned and thrust her elbow into the side of his jaw. Still tightly grasping the stake, she dusted him.

A much bigger vamp then grabbed her throat and tossed her across the table like a rag doll, slamming her into a table and chairs. As she lie there dazed amid the broken glasses and bottles, the vamp continued to advance on her but she recovered long enough to kick upward, the blow connecting with his chin and sending him stumbling backward.

Seeing her backpack, she frantically tried to crawl toward it but it was kicked away toward the bar. Another vamp grabbed her by the hair and roughly pulled her to her feet, then flung her violently to the other side of the room. She slid to the base of the bar. The combination of fatigue and pain forced her to pause and catch her breath, try to find the will to keep fighting.

She tasted blood on her lips, felt a warm trickle of blood slip from a cut on her forehead, tried to suppress the aching and burning in muscles she didn't realize she had. Because there were still a lot of vampires left in the room and they were moving closer. Summoning her last reserves of strength, she relied on the help of a nearby barstool to get to her feet.

"That was quite a good fight, Slayer," the tallest of the vamps said as he stepped closer. "A valiant effort, I must say."

"Well, I wouldn't want you boys to be disappointed," she said through clenched teeth. "Now why don't you tell me where Davrok is and I'll let the rest of you live."

The lead vampire started to laugh, and the others joined in. "Bluffing isn't your strong point, Slayer," he said. "You won't last another minute. But I shall do my best to make your death last a bit longer than that."

She tried to throw a punch at the smiling vamp's face but he caught her fist in his crushing grip and twisted her arm behind her back. A few more inches and she would be facing a dislocated shoulder or a broken arm. She was paralyzed.

"Coming in here, fighting your own personal war, it's all for nought. Davrok is having his coming-out party tomorrow night, and we're all invited. He's giving us all a free meal, an all-you-can-eat buffet. Sorry you won't be there to see it."

"Oy," a younger vamp protested, "how come you get to drink the Slayer?"

"Don't worry. Everyone will get a turn." As he continued to keep a firm grip on her twisted arm, he used his other hand to pull her brown hair back, exposing her neck. His breath was hot on her skin, and she could already feel the sharp points of his fangs near her jugular.

Her mind raced for something, anything that she could do. She found nothing. No hope.

"Your blood is boiling, Slayer. I can feel it," he whispered. "Which is good, because I really hate when dinner is served cold."


	10. Aftermath

**DISCLAIMER: Yes, I'm evil. I left you with a very stressful cliffhanger last chapter. And I'd do it again, I tell you. Mwahahahaha! Ooh, what's going to happen to our hapless hero and heroine next? I can't tell you. Well, okay, twist my arm. Ow, not literally! Geez, I was already planning to tell you....**

Sara closed her eyes as the realization hit her that this was the end. It was not a huge surprise. Death came to all slayers, some sooner than others, and now it was her turn. In these last moments, there was no quick montage of her life, no regrets, no pleading with a higher power to be spared. There was only resignation, and the hope that it would be quick.

"Let her go."

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Shaun's voice. There he was, standing in front of them, aiming a gun at the vamp's head.

"I said, let her go," he repeated.

The vamp laughed. "A gun? You think that scares me? I can dodge bullets."

"Oh, yeah," Shaun said. "Well, dodge this!" The pistol shot a stream of water at the vamp. His face burned from the holy water and he released Sara. She delivered a roundhouse kick to his stomach that sent him flying back into the other vampires. Snatching up her backpack, she jumped behind the bar and Shaun followed.

"You hit me," he stated, almost sadly.

"I said I was sorry."

"Why would you hit me? We're on the same side."

"It was for your own good. And I needed you out of my way." She grabbed a seltzer bottle from under the bar and filled it with holy water.

"I brought my own gun, by the way." He held up the water pistol. "Figured it might come in handy. If I'm going to be your trusty sidekick."

"Yes, that's very resourceful of you."

"Look, Sara, I really think we need to talk about your trust issues."

"Maybe now is not the best time to talk about this, Shaun."

"No, I'm serious. You refuse to get close to people because you're afraid that you'll lose them. But if you go through life like that, without feeling anything for anybody, you're no better than a...a zombie."

She looked at him. "I'm a zombie? You're comparing me to a zombie?"

"Yes, I am. Apart from the being alive and not eating people's flesh, you are the equivalent of a zombie."

"Fine, let's talk about you then. Liz left you a month ago, and you're still not over it. You were with her for three years, and she never truly appreciated you. She never made you feel like you were the only person in the world that could truly make her happy, did she? For a while you were there, you were convenient. And then she got tired of you and dropped you. So if you're quite done being Liz's lapdog, I'd appreciate it if you'd cover me." She placed the seltzer bottle full of holy water into his hands. "Because unless you help me fight off all these vamps, we're both going to die tonight without ever knowing where our potential friendship and/or relationship might have gone. Fair enough?"

He considered for a moment. "Yeah, that's fair."

"Right. Count of three. One...two...three!" They both jumped up from behind the bar. Sara fired her crossbow into the nearest vamp, while Shaun fired with his water pistol in one hand and the seltzer bottle in the other. He felt just like Antonio Banderas in _Desperado_.

She jumped to the other side of the bar, carrying open bottles of vodka and tequila, and ordered Shaun to follow her. Shaun kept them at bay with the holy water while Sara poured alcohol on the floor as they both moved toward the door. Once they'd reached it, she retrieved the lighter that Shaun had given her from her pocket.

"G'night, boys. It's been a blast," she said as she dropped the lighter to the floor. Flames shot up immediately, the fire following the trail of alcohol and engulfing everything, vamps and all, in its path. Shaun grabbed Sara and tossed her through the doorway onto the stairs. He then fell on top of her to shield her from the flames.

"Ow," she squeaked in a small voice.

"Sorry, are you okay?"

"No," she groaned, struggling to her feet. "But I am alive, thanks to you."

"Oh, it's no problem. Guess that makes us even then."

"Yeah, I guess so."

He gently brushed her hair aside to glance at the deep red gash on her forehead. "That's a nasty cut you've got there. Better get it bandaged up."

"I've got plenty of first aid supplies back at my flat. Another perk of the job."

They emerged from the stairway onto the street. An empty street.

"Um, where's my car?"

"Oh my God," Shaun said slowly. "I left the keys in it."

"You what?"

"Well, you were about to be beaten to death and drained of blood by a group of vampires. It was a stressful time. I can't be expected to think of every detail when I'm under such stress, now can I?"

"I think it's a bloody big detail that I have no car, Shaun!"

They stood there on the street in awkward silence.

"Fancy a walk then?" he suggested.

"Yeah, okay."

A few blocks later, they secured a mini-cab and Shaun excitedly uttered the words "Step on it!" after giving him directions to his house in Crouch End, deciding that it was closer than trying to return to Whitechapel.

He unlocked the door and let her enter. "First thing we need to do is take care of that cut," he declared. Throwing down her bag, she followed him upstairs to the bathroom. He searched through the cabinets for alcohol, bandages, anything else he'd seen used in movies and on television to treat wounds.

"I think you're obligated to say 'This might hurt a bit' in a condescending tone," she joked, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub.

"Actually, it will hurt a bit, because I have no idea what I'm doing." He knelt in front of her and cautiously dabbed an alcohol-soaked washcloth at the gash on her head.

"Ow!" she said with a pained intake of breath.

"Look, I'm trying my best not to hurt you. Now hold still."

She pouted but remained still while he cleaned the wound and placed a bandage on it.

"There, all better." He smiled at her and suddenly she felt the pain was lessened. "Anything else I need to take a lot at?" he inquired, looking at the scrapes and bruises on her arms.

"No, Dr. Riley, I'll be fine."

"Well, let's wait till you're properly healed before we start playing 'doctor'," he said with a wink, patting her shoulder and rising to his feet.

"Shaun!?" she gasped. "Filthy bitch..."

"You love it," he replied, putting away the first aid supplies. "I can get you a shirt, if you want something to change into. And I can sleep on the couch if you'd rather have the bed."

"No, no, the couch is fine. That'd be great."

"Okay." He turned and walked through the doorway.

"Shaun?"

"Yeah?"

"What I did tonight was really stupid, wasn't it?"

"You were upset about your friend. You thought you could set things right. Any superpowered female would have done the same," he consoled, leaning on the doorway. "Well, apart from Storm. She would have thrown lightning bolts at them or something. And Rogue, she might have just drained the life out of them. Now Jean Grey might have thrown stakes at them with her mind--"

"Okay, I get it," she interrupted. "Thanks, Shaun."

"No problem. I'll go put the kettle on." He turned and made his way down the stairs.

The next morning, sunlight flooded into Shaun's living room. Sara turned on the couch to escape it. Every inch of her body was racked with pain. Even her eyelids hurt. She didn't want to open them, but she heard Shaun's footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Morning," he greeted, peeking around the corner.

"Hi."

"Did you sleep all right?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Do you want tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please," she requested, and he disappeared into the kitchen. She heard the clank of dishes and utensils coming from the other room. She struggled to sit up on the couch as she heard a knock at the front door.

"I'll get it!" Shaun called. He opened the door to admit a disheveled Michael.

"Neither of you reported to work this morning," he stated.

"Yeah, well, we got a bit sidetracked," Shaun replied, returning to his work in the kitchen.

"Michael, is that you?" inquired a voice from the next room.

He followed the voice into the living room and found Sara, sitting on Shaun's couch wearing one of his white dress shirts. His mind started to leap to conclusions. Surely this was not happening. The last thing he needed was a slayer sleeping around with the new recruit. "What's going on?"

At his shocked expression, she was reminded what the situation must look like. "Michael, it's not what you think. Shaun and I ran into trouble last night. I slept here on his couch because it was closer than going home."

Michael sighed in relief. "Thank goodness for that. The last thing we need right now is an emotionally-conflicted slayer who's more worried about spending time with her boyfriend than preventing the upcoming apocalypse."

"He is not my boyfriend," she protested. Shaun had entered the room with the tea tray and placed it on the coffee table, handing her a cup. "Thanks, babe."

Michael shook his head and took a seat in the nearest armchair. "I suppose you know about Will?"

Sara sadly nodded.

"Yes, well, we don't exactly have time to mourn him. Things have been set in motion. We need to act quickly to stop them."

"Just give me some time," Sara said slowly.

"Time is a luxury we do not have," he insisted. "And no amount of grieving and feeling sorry for yourself is going to bring Will back. Now, you have a job to do. I suggest you get out there and do it."

Shaun stepped in front of him. "Just leave her alone. Have you any idea what she's been through? All the sacrifices she's made for your cause? She nearly died last night!"

"She knew what this life meant when she chose it. She accepted the sacrifices."

"She's just lost her best friend, for Christ's sake!"

"She's lost a lot more than that." Michael leaned forward and spoke directly to Sara. "Davrok attacked the Council last night. He and his makeshift army slaughtered everyone they found. Only a few of us escaped with our lives. Do you see why we don't have time for you to lie there on a couch drinking tea?"

"No, that can't be true," she said in disbelief, looking desperately to Shaun. "That's not possible."

"I assure you it is possible," Michael stated. "And it's only the beginning."


	11. BestLaid Plans

**DISCLAIMER: Characters from "Shaun of the Dead" are not mine. Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright are also not mine. And yes, that is immensely tragic.**

Sara sat on the couch, clutching at the teacup as if it were the only thing that would keep her from collapsing.

Shaun felt helplessly caught between Sara's impending panic and Michael's determined concern. "Look, are we absolutely sure that this was Davrok?" he offered.

"Yes, we are fairly certain, Shaun. Unless you know of any other ancient vampires who've been trying to build their own army for the coming apocalypse."

"Apocalypse?" he repeated with disbelief. Was it really necessary to go mentioning the "A" word so casually?

"Yes, according to the prophecy that Alexandra is in the process of translating, the world as we know it will cease to exist on the night of the lunar eclipse. Which is, oh, 3 days away."

Shaun looked to Sara for support. "Yeah, but it's not a _real_ apocalypse, is it? It's not four horsemen, raining fire from the sky, rivers of molten lava kind of apocalypse? Just sort of a mini-cosmic malfunction?"

"I'm afraid he's right, Shaun," she said softly, trying to wake up from her state of shock. "When these ancient prophecies say 'end of the world,' they usually mean 'end of the world.' It's the one occasion where they're not vague."

"Well, we can't let that happen, can we?"

"What are we going to do? There's no Council, we have no idea what Davrok is planning, we can't possibly stop something that we can't even identify."

"We've got three days, right?" Shaun asked Michael. "Plenty of time to at least make a dent in this Turkish guy's undead army. Maybe that'll help avert this supposed apocalypse."

"It's not that simple, Shaun," Michael sighed. "Davrok will have learned the location of our operatives in Glasgow, Cardiff, Belfast. His legions will systematically wipe out every slayer between here and the Continent. I wouldn't be surprised if he comes after both of you next."

Shaun and Sara exchanged concerned looks.

"At best, Shaun and I can only take out 5 to 10 vamps at one time," she said. "It's not enough. If only there were some way we could wipe them out with one fell swoop."

Silently, the wheels in Shaun's head started to turn. He had the beginnings of an idea, which could be the beginnings of a plan. "Okay, what did we all learn from the movie 'Van Helsing'?" Shaun asked them.

"That our eardrums could withstand more noise than we thought?" Sara groaned.

"No. Well, apart from that..." The group was at a loss. Shaun continued, "Look, remember when the vampires were all gathered at that masquerade ball, and he set off this bomb burst of sunlight which killed all the vampires?"

"We don't have any sunlight bombs, Shaun," Michael declared.

"Nor do we know where vampires gather, if they do gather," Sara added. "They tend to be pretty solitary for the most part."

"But wouldn't they tend to go somewhere with a lot of people? Like their own version of an all-you-can-eat buffet?"

"Wait a minute," Sara said slowly. "Just before that vamp tried to kill me, he said something about Davrok having a coming-out party tonight. Something about him giving all the vamps a free meal. Maybe he does plan to sic his minions on some big party or rave in town."

"And if there is a party going on, I know just the man with the down-low on it," Shaun stated.

"Hang on," Michael interrupted. "Even if there is some sort of rave buffet, where do we go from there? We couldn't evacuate the place without causing a panic. We can't send anyone in because it would be suicide. We can't plant explosives beforehand because they'd see them."

"What if we set a trap for them?" Sara suggested.

"What kind of trap?"

"Well, since we're borrowing ideas from the movie 'Blade,' let's keep going. The tech guys were working on some kind of directional UV lighting, right? So we go back to the Council, salvage whatever equipment we can. We set up these UV lamps around the club, blend them in with the strobe lighting or whatever. When we turn them on, the vamps in the crowd become crispy critters."

"And maybe we could arm the kids with stakes or holy water or something?" Shaun added.

"I am not comfortable with arming civilians, Shaun," Michael countered. "They're not even supposed to know that vampires exist."

"Oh, give me a break, Michael. Of course, they know they exist. They've been losing friends, relatives, whomever to these Davrok minions for weeks. They're not stupid. They're not buying the PR story you've fed to the media about wild dogs or whatever."

"They aren't?" Michael looked hurt.

"No! Now let's deny this Turkish twat a free meal and give these people a chance to fight back. What do you say?"

"I'm in," Sara confirmed.

"Fine," Michael sighed. "But if anyone from Scotland Yard asks, this was all your idea."

After he'd seen them off, Shaun put in a call to the local courier. Almost immediately after he hung up the phone, there was a knock at the door. Shaun opened it to admit a tall, peroxide blond man dressed in a tight black shirt with colorful stripes at the shoulder, a black ballcap on backwards and yellow headphones round his neck.

"Oy, you lucky peop...Eh, where's blondie?" he said in his quick staccato accent.

"Blondie has left the building, Tyres. We broke up about a month ago."

"What happened? She finally wise up and realize that she was going nowhere if she saddled herself to an aimlessly wandering horse the likes of you?"

"I am not an aimlessly wandering horse. We just sort of realized that we were on separate paths."

"Yeah, the path that takes you to the same bloody pub night after night, where you order the same drink, eat the same bag of Twiglets, and talk about the same sad sci-fi trivia every night."

Shaun shook his head. How come every conversation with Tyres made him feel like the most pathetic loser on the face of the planet? How could a bike courier hold such power over his fragile psyche? "Well, maybe I'd like to change my path," Shaun hinted. "Maybe I need a change of venue. Could you suggest something?"

"Well, my friend, if you're looking for a heaping helping of disco between two slices of ecstacy bread, I might know the right place for you," Tyres said, casually seating himself in the nearest armchair.

"Tell me."

"Very exclusive rave tonight at a warehouse down in Brixton. We're talkin' high-end, no expense spared, no desire left ungranted, no act of immorality left uncommitted. Bunch of rich kids and socialites are the only ones invited, but I happen to be a close personal friend of one of the security guys."

"Well, tell me where it is."

He laughed and shook his head in contempt. "They'd never let you in, Shaunie."

"Why not?"

"You work at an appliance store."

"I _manage_ an appliance store," he corrected in an irritated tone.

"Like I said, this party's for people of leisure. Not working folk like you and me."

"I thought you said you were going?"

"That's 'cause I know how to blend in, mix with the crowd. Let's face it, Shaunie, you are not a people person. You don't know how to play it cool."

"Just tell me where the bloody party is, Tyres," Shaun demanded wearily.

"All right, all right. Warehouse 317. Brixton. But don't let on to anyone there that you know me. I've got a reputation to maintain."

"A reputation as a drugged-up, burnt-out, overgrown club kid with loose morals and an immensely short attention span?"

"Exactly."


	12. What Not to Wear

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah, I still don't own any characters from "Shaun of the Dead." Oh, and Merry2004, thanks for your kind words. If you'd like to check out the Pegged Message Board, just go to and do a search for Simon Pegg. Hope to see you there!**

**Jessica and Slick, this one's for you. Rock on, my Simon-besotted sistahs!**

As Michael and Sara pulled up to the Council building, the devastation was visible from the outside. Broken glass, smoke and fire damage. News reports had blamed it on an electrical short-circuit. Parking at the curb, they ducked under the crime scene tape and entered the building. Michael showed his ID to the lone constable left to guard the premises and was allowed to enter.

They moved silently and cautiously through the once-shining lobby, now being worked over and examined by crime scene investigators, and started to climb the stairs to the upper floors.

Sara caught a brief glimpse of a body with blond hair on the floor behind the front desk and realized the cheerful receptionist, Dawn, must have been among the casualties. "This was our home," she observed sadly, "and they made it theirs."

"We don't have time to linger, Sara," Michael reminded. "Let's salvage what we can while we can."

They split up and went about the task of gathering UV lamps, stakes, and holy water. They made sure to grab a stack of illustrated pamphlets that had been distributed in non-English-speaking countries to help the locals deal with demon attacks. Their most recent use was in Afghanistan, when the fall of the Taliban had meant an open invitation to vampires waiting in southern Russia. Sara suggested passing them out to party-goers along with the stakes since they wouldn't be able to explain the situation over the loud music.

Entering Michael's office, she found him on the phone. She put the boxes down by the door and took a seat.

"Yes, yes," Michael said into the receiver. "Just do as much as you can. You've been a very big help. Thanks." He replaced the receiver. "That was Alexandra. She's still busily working on the translation."

"Is Lex okay? Was she hurt in the attack?"

"Broken arm, mild concussion, but otherwise fine. Have you got everything you need?"

"Yeah...apart from a car," she replied hesitantly.

"What happened to your car?"

"Um, well, Trelfall demon," she lied.

"Trelfall demon?"

"Yeah. You know how territorial those things are. I guess I parked in his space, and he kind of ripped my car apart."

"Yes, well, you can probably find another one in the garage. But next time be more careful."

"Oh, I will."

"By the way, whenever you're ready to tell me where you went after leaving Ryland's office last night, I'm ready to hear it." He steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, calmly awaiting an explanation for all the cuts and bruises that had appeared on her since yesterday. "And don't even think of telling me that it was a Trelfall demon because their only interaction with humans has been to use them as incubators for their larvae."

"Really? Okay, ew..."

"Sara!" he snapped.

"All right, all right." She breathed in deeply. "After Shaun and I left Ryland's office, we went to Ryland's flat like you said. And then we found Will. He was dead and I...I dunno, I was in shock. I wasn't sure what to do next. So I went to this local drinking establishment that is known to be frequented by demons to see if anyone might know something about it."

"You went there to question them?"

"Exactly."

"Not to engage in an unsanctioned act of retribution for the murder of your colleague?"

"Michael, you don't understand—"

"Yes I do, Sara. I understand perfectly. You wanted revenge for Will's death so you went in there, guns blazing, looking to kick ass and take names. And I hope that you understand how incredibly stupid that was. Not only could you have been killed, but you could have permanently damaged our very shaky alliances with several of the local demon clans."

"Y'know, last time I checked my whole mission was to kill demons, not perpetuate some politically correct agenda set forth by some touchy-feely, New Age priests. I don't care if these demon clans have made generous donations to the Church, I don't care if they've received a papal bull to carry on goat sacrifices in Trafalgar Square, I don't care if they're invited to Sunday tea with the Prime Minister's wife. When they kill my friends, all bets are off."

Michael considered her with narrowed eyes. "Nevertheless, in this new century, politics are a necessary evil. You shall have to learn to be more diplomatic if you're going to be an agent of the Council."

"Michael, take a look around you! There is no Council! It's gone! Everything we've worked for is gone."

"The Council isn't just a building, Sara. It's the mission. The fight to protect what is good and pure in this world. As long as there is still someone left to fight, then there is still a Council. And there is still a reason to fight."

She maintained a thoughtful silence, looking at him across the desk. When her cell phone began to ring, she stepped into the hallway to answer it, almost grateful for an excuse to leave. A few moments later, she came running back in. "Right, Shaun's got the location of the party. A warehouse in Brixton. I told him we'd pick him up enroute."

"Good, we should go then."

"Actually, I need to change first. I wouldn't exactly blend in with this outfit."

"I'm sure you have some other clothes still here."

"No, for this transformation, I will need the help of a higher social power."

About an hour later, Sara found herself outside the door of 3A. She breathed in deeply, finding it difficult to swallow her pride. But she couldn't deny the fact that there was absolutely nothing in her wardrobe that would make her look like she belonged at an exclusive, underground party. She closed her eyes and willed her hand to raise itself and knock on the door.

The door then opened to reveal her downstairs neighbor, Jessica. Her red hair was bundled up in a fluffy towel on top of her head, the blue eyes that matched her silk robe wide with surprise. She gave Sara a sideways smile. "Well, well. Hello, stranger."

"Hi, Jessica. I really need to—"

"Did you and Shaun have a good time last night?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the open doorway.

"Not exactly. Look, there's something—"

"Because you two were conspicuously absent from our get-together last night. Honestly, Sara, I shall stop extending you invitations if you keep up this record of absenteeism."

If only, Sara thought.

"And what's that bandage on your head?" Jessica continued with her inquisition. "All those scrapes and bruises—did you go to a football match or something? I warned you those things can get rowdy."

"Jessica, please! I'm really sorry that Shaun and I couldn't come and have drinks with you and your martini-sipping friends, but something really important came up. A matter of life and death. And much as it pains me to say it, I really need your help right now. Can I come in?"

"Of course," Jessica said, a little surprised by the sudden seriousness in her neighbor's manner. True, she didn't know the American from upstairs all that well, but she always seemed very cordial and laid-back when they'd met in the hallway. "What's so important?"

"I can't exactly say, but—"

"Oh, hi, Sara!" Slick greeted from the kitchen. "Care for some tea?"

"No," she said abruptly, immediately sorry for her rudeness. "Sorry, I just don't have a lot of time. I have to go to this really, really important party and I don't have anything to wear."

"What kind of party is it?" Jessica inquired.

"It's actually a rave. Somewhere in Brixton. Obviously, I don't have any appropriate ensembles so I was wondering if you guys could help me."

Jessica and Slick exchanged glances which turned into excited smiles. "Makeover!" they cried in unison.

"Sara, don't worry about a thing," Jessica said, placing an arm around her shoulder and leading her to the couch. "You came to the right people."

"Y'know, my boyfriend Edgar probably left some of his black leather accessories here," Slick added, rushing into her bedroom.

"I'm not sure I want to know what that means," Sara remarked as she sat down.

"She means necklaces, bracelets, that kind of thing," Jessica explained. "Now what color hair should we go with: red, blue? Ooh, what about green?"

Sara felt an uneasy tension start to settle on her and wondered why she found the prospect of a transformation at the hands of her neighbors far more terrifying than any vampire she'd ever faced. Jessica brought a bundle of hair extensions in all different colors from her bedroom and started to hold them up to Sara's face, checking for complexion compatibility.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Sara said hesitantly, starting to rise.

"No, no, no. Sit right back down!" Jessica ordered.

"Okay," she complied.

"So, is Shaun going with you to this party tonight?"

"Um, yeah."

Jessica smiled broadly as the realization dawned on her. "Oh my God, this is it, isn't it? The first _real_ date? I mean, that must be why you're so...fidgety."

"This is not a date thing, it's a work thing," Sara insisted.

"In that case, can I have a 'work thing' with him tomorrow night?"

"Jess, it's not like that. Shaun is...I don't even know how to describe him. He was this random guy I met in the record store. And then slowly, gradually, he worked his way into my life until...well, until life without him doesn't seem a very attractive prospect."

Sara picked up one of the blazing red hair extensions and twirled it around her fingers. "I mean, he's seen me at my worst. My absolute worst. But it didn't faze him. He didn't make up some excuse, say he had somewhere else to be or tell me that he couldn't handle it. He stayed right by my side. He made me feel like I don't have to go through this alone."

"Yeah, yeah," Slick dismissed, as she entered with an armful of leather accessories. "Nevermind that Oprah stuff. Is he shaggable?"

"I don't think of him like that," she answered with a slightly nervous laugh. The two girls stared her down. "I mean, not really." They continued to stare. "Not that much." And they continued to stare. "Okay, okay, he is definitely shaggable."

Jessica and Slick shared a smug smile.

"But it doesn't matter anyway because my job prevents me from even _thinking_ about dating."

"What? Are you a nun?" Slick quipped.

"Or maybe a CIA agent," Jess suggested, "afraid that she might reveal national secrets to him under the covers."

"Guys, look, I'm not a nun, I'm not a spy, and I am definitely not girlfriend material. So can we just drop this please?"

"Fine."

"Suits me."

"Who's this Edgar again?" Sara asked Slick, as she placed different bracelets around Sara's arms.

"Oh, my boyfriend. And potential soulmate."

"Two months and she's already planning their wedding in an Irish castle," Jess groaned.

"It was a Scottish castle, smartass. Anyway, we met when my band, _Insanity_, opened for his band, _Herd of Iron Beef_, at this club called the Albatross. He's absolutely brilliant," Slick gushed. "He's funny and talented and sweet. He's got this great goatee, and these really deep eyes you could just get lost in."

"So does Shaun," Sara said dreamily, without thinking.

Jess and Slick exchanged glances.

"Right, we definitely have to make you look irresistible tonight," Jess pronounced, using her remote control to cue up a Kylie Minogue song on the CD player.


	13. A Question of Time

**DISCLAIMER-A-GO-GO: Okay, admittedly, this chapter is mostly fluff. But it's a good kind of fluff. Enjoy!**

After hours of digging through all the clothes from his Goth phase, Shaun managed to put together an outfit of loose black jeans and a black T-shirt with some obscure band name scrawled on it. His long black leather coat lay across the bed. While he was lacing up his black Doc Martens, there was a knock at the door.

He bounded down the stairs and opened the door. There was a strange woman at his front door. His eyes slowly took in her figure clothed in black stiletto boots, tight black leather pants, and red corset. Black hook & eye arm warmers extended from her wrists to her elbows, and a spiked choker encircled her neck. Voluminous waves of black hair interwoven with red streaks framed her pale face, dark-rimmed brown eyes staring at him expectantly.

"You okay, Shaun?" the stranger asked in a familiar voice.

"Sara?!" he sputtered in belated recognition. "Wow, you look..."

"Like a circus freak?" she suggested bitterly, stepping past him into the hallway.

"Actually I was gonna' go with 'incredibly hot,' but yeah, I could see that."

"Well, it's definitely more Faith than Buffy," she remarked, running a hand over the satin corset. It painfully restricted her breathing, but she had to admit she liked the smaller waistline and the enhanced cleavage that it had magically bestowed on her.

Shaun continued to stare. "Never have the words 'Reach out and touch Faith' meant more to me than right now."

She gave him a "don't even go there look," though she wasn't sure that she meant it.

"So how sexy do I look?" he inquired.

She took in his outfit. "Very," she replied. "That's a nice look for you. Went through a Goth phase, did you?"

"Briefly, from the ages 18-21. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Then I won't ask. Michael's waiting in the car. You ready?"

"Let me get my coat. I'll meet you there."

After Shaun hopped in the car, they started the painfully slow ride to the SW9 address, the tension seeming to mount with every mile. Shaun hoped that Tyres had told them about the right party, Michael hoped that no innocent civilians were harmed in this seemingly hopeless effort, and Sara hoped that she didn't pass out from the tightness of the corset.

They all hoped they might be getting close when they passed the converted St. Matthews Church on their way through Brixton Hill, the once-consecrated ground now home to the happening Mass Club and the Bug Bar in the crypt below. Sunset was fast approaching, leaving them little time for preparations once they reached the warehouse. A few blocks later and they came upon what seemed to be a bike messenger clad in a track suit of silver aluminum locking up his bike on the corner.

"Hey, it's Tyres!" Shaun cried. "This must be the place."

The large building loomed on the corner, its faded lettering identifying it as a former warehouse for paper storage or printing. Michael parked at the curb and let Shaun and Sara out of the car. They retrieved boxes from the trunk and stacked them on the sidewalk. Once they were done unloading, Michael disappeared to find a place to park.

Tyres approached the waiting Shaun. "Oy, you lucky people!" he greeted. "Evenin', Shaunie. I see you brought a little 'friend'." He held up his hands in a dramatic quotation mark gesture. "What's a honey like you doin' with a zero like him?"

"Is he for real?" Sara leaned over and whispered to Shaun.

"I'm afraid so," he responded.

She turned her attention to Tyres. "What can I say, I'm a sucker for guys in long black coats who can get me a discount on flat-screen TVs," Sara replied, with a wink to Shaun.

"Have to say I'm wonderin' what else you're a sucker for, sunshine," Tyres said with a lascivious look.

Shaun interrupted as he caught Sara's look of rising anger. "Careful, Tyres, this girl will not hesitate to kick your ass."

"Feisty, eh? I like that in a woman. Tell me, my corseted cutie, are you currently happy with your choice of dance partner?"

"Yes, actually, I am."

"Because our Shaunie here doesn't exactly know how to show a girl a good time. Unless her idea of a good time is a night in a dark, smoky pub sipping pints and listening to his sad post-traumatic self whine about what his life could have been if only he'd had the guts to get up off his arse. But you don't strike me as that kind of girl." He turned away to light a cigarette and wave to some friends across the street.

"I don't strike you?" she muttered. Shaun caught the movement in the corner of his eye of Sara winding up her right fist.

He managed to snatch her arm in mid-flight before she could deliver a blow. "Ah, ah, ah. No hitting the humans," he advised.

"Shaun, I am not going to let him talk to you like that."

Shaun was a bit shocked that she was thinking of him rather than herself. "Look, much as I appreciate your concern, it's just Tyres. He's harmless. He's an alright guy once you get to know him."

"I'm not interested in getting to 'know' him," she said, repeating the same dramatic quotation mark gesture with her hands. "I'm just saying, if by some chance he gets turned into a vampire tonight, he's dust."

"Okay," he agreed.

Piece by piece, they began to transfer the equipment and boxes from the sidewalk into the warehouse. A few other staffers from the Council showed up to help them hang the UV lights from beams across the ceiling and connect them to the light grid so that a flip of one switch would activate them all.

Shaun had stepped outside to grab a quick smoke before the chaos ensued. Sara placed the boxes of stakes and pamphlets by the warehouse door and went outside to join him. They were standing together on the corner when the rave's organizer and the DJ showed up. They gave them a nod as they passed them on their way inside.

"Did you see that guy?" Shaun asked with contempt.

"Who?"

"The DJ. What is he, 15? He probably never even bought an album in his life. He probably thinks LPs are some new funk/ska/reggae band."

"LPs? What are those?" Sara inquired.

Shaun looked at her in horror. "Okay, I know I am not that much older than you."

She continued to feign ignorance, then broke down in a laugh to prevent him from launching into a lecture on the true form of music. "I'm just teasing, Shaun. I know what LPs are. I still own quite a few."

"Thank God," Shaun sighed. "I thought I was going to have to reconsider my opinion of you."

"Oh. What opinion would that be?" she requested, only half-joking, while she tugged uncomfortably at the arm warmers.

"Doesn't matter. We can talk about it later," he said. He dropped the finished cigarette to the sidewalk as music started to drift toward them from the warehouse's interior.

"I'm afraid there might not be a later," she said softly, as if all the pain of the past few days had finally hit home. "This might go really badly, Shaun. Not that it's the first time facing imminent death, for either of us."

"That's true," he agreed with a slightly nervous laugh. "Look, we've done all we can. Sometimes we have to leave things in the hands of fate."

"I just hope fate is in a good mood tonight."

"So do I."

She breathed in deeply, or as deeply as she could. "Okay, let's go." She started to walk back inside.

"Wait." He grabbed hold of her hand and she instinctively turned to him. "Before we go in there to face our imminent death, there's something that I need to ask you."

"What's that?"

He stepped closer and brought his right hand up to her face. As he touched her cheek, she felt suddenly warm despite the cold.

"Shaun, wh—?"

With his hand, he pulled her closer. Bending his head, he put his lips to hers and kissed her. His kiss flooded through her like warm sparkling cider. Her every nerve ending seemed to awaken. She felt weak in the knees for possibly the first time in her life. The world around them seemed to be spinning, but she was still, held fast in his arms.

When he pulled away from her, they were still so close she could feel his breath. She had a hard time finding her own, though. She looked into his deep blue-grey eyes, searching for a foothold, something to keep from being drowned by the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. A desire that she wished would have stayed dormant was now wide awake.

"Uh...umm...huh," she gasped. "Um, how should I answer that?"

"Well, you can take some time and think about it, y'know," he offered in a low voice, his hand still caressing her cheek. "You don't have to answer right away."

"Okay, I...I'll think about it," she struggled to whisper. He smiled in response.

When he released her, the weakness in her knees coupled with the unfamiliar stiletto heels made her stumble but she commanded herself to get it together.

"Ready to save the world then?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she said, a wide smile creeping across her face.

She took Shaun's hand and they entered the club. An empty club.

"Um, where's the DJ?"

Michael came to meet them at the door, looking very guilty. "Yes, well, you see, I wanted to appraise the gentlemen of the situation and the risks they might be facing. And I'm afraid that...well, they did a runner."

"What?" Sara and Shaun blurted in unison.

"Well, they are in charge of this event. I figured that they should be aware of the inherent risks," he explained. "And I might have mentioned the 'v' word."

"Wait, wait, what happened to the whole 'deceive, obfuscate and inveigle' protocol?" Sara reminded him.

"I supposed I wanted to try a new approach."

"Well, you picked a great time for full disclosure, Michael," she chided.

Seeing his chance, Shaun rushed to the DJ's abandoned turntables.

"Shaun, what are you doing? Are you crazy?" Sara cried, following him onto the raised platform.

"We have to keep the music going or the vamps will know something's up." Currently, Depeche Mode's _A Question of Time_ was playing. He flipped frantically through the box of albums for something to put on when the song ran out, momentarily flashing back to the memory of him and Ed as they flung albums at oncoming zombies in their back garden.

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

"You are looking at a veteran of the World DJ Championships, my corseted cutie. Fatboy Slim only wishes he were as good as me," he boasted with a cocky smile.

"All right, then. You stay here and kick the funky jams while Michael and I pass out the party favors."

"Sorry, did you just say 'kick the funky jams'?"

"Well...I was being ironic," she stammered. She kissed him quickly on the cheek. "I'll see you later."

"I thought you said there might not be a later."

"I'll make sure there is," she declared. "Good luck, and stay safe."

"Yeah, you, too."

She jumped down from the platform and went to join Michael at the door, bouncing with renewed energy. Either this night could turn out to be the best night of her life, or it could turn out to be a horrible bloodbath with a staggering number of casualties that almost ensured they would fail to stop the coming apocalypse. Strangely enough, it wasn't the first time she'd been faced with that dilemma. Only time would tell.


	14. Reunions

**DISCLAIMER: Fact—Edgar Wright is bootylicious. Fact—Dylan Moran loves chocolate ginger biscuits. Fact—None of the "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to yours truly. Fact—The author is in way over her head, yet she's still struggling to stay afloat like that chick at the beginning of "Jaws." Duh dun, duh dun, dun dun dun dun dun dun…**

Ryland sighed as he lowered the binoculars from his eyes. "I think we might have some uninvited guests," he said.

Davrok finished his meal of the convenience store's clerk and dropped the body to the floor. He joined Ryland at the window of the store where they had decided to watch the fireworks at the warehouse rave across the street. "Is it the Slayer?" he asked.

"Well, the girl seems to fit the description of the one who torched the Cereberus Club last night," Ryland replied. "Though I'm not sure whether we can trust the word of a near-sighted Opthalian demon. At any rate, that was definitely Simmonds from the Council driving the car."

"How could they know of our plans?"

"Maybe one of your minions got chatty before he got dusted." Ryland continued to look through the binoculars as they carried boxes and other equipment inside the warehouse. "They seem to be packing quite a bit of weaponry."

"We need to destroy them now," Davrok declared impatiently.

"May I remind you that we need the Slayer for the ritual? And may I also remind you this party was your idea? If we lose a few dozen vampires tonight, we'll still be in good shape. We've got replacements all over the countryside. They, on the other hand, are working out of a building that's no more than a pile of rubble. Anything they accomplish tonight will only leave them with a false sense of security. They'll feel…almost victorious."

Standing by the entrance of the warehouse, Sara was feeling very old as the parade of goths and fairies and other club kids paraded by her. Since Michael had seen fit to scare off the event staff, with the exception of a few bartenders, security guys, and lighting crew, she'd been obligated to take up the job of coat check girl. Michael stood beside her and continued to pass out stakes and pamphlets to the attendees.

She sighed, propping her elbow up on the counter and resting her chin on it. "You know, the last time I used a glow stick was when I went trick-or-treating at 5 years old. I'm so out of the loop."

"You're out of the loop? How do you think I feel?" Michael scoffed. "I look like a bloody Oxford don who's wandered into a Kevanisk worship ritual."

"If I knew what a Kevanisk was, I'd tend to agree. Really, is your closet nothing but tweed?"

Another club kid passed them on the way inside. Despite it being several hours past sunset, he was still wearing sunglasses and an outfit trapped in the 80s that not even James Spader could have made acceptable. Michael was ready to offer him a stake, but Sara placed a hand on his arm to stop him. "Vampire," she whispered and tilted her head in his direction. "At least we know we've got the right place."

Then Sara smiled at the most recent couple to arrive. "Welcome. Can I take your coats?"

"Wow, it has been years since I've been to a rave," the woman said, her voice charged with excitement and blue eyes wide as she handed her coat to Sara.

"Check out the party favors, Yvonne," her significant other observed, showing her the stake and pamphlet.

"Hmm, that's really…unique. You don't think you're taking the Goth thing a bit too seriously, do you?"

"Well, this theme has been a really big hit in America," Sara explained. "We just wanted to see if it would go over here in London."

"Right, cool. Cheers!" The two of them disappeared happily into the undulating mass of people, alternately illuminated by glow sticks and strobe lights.

Shaun (aka "DJ Smiley Riley") was still manning the DJ station, dancing to the rhythm and twirling an album in his hands. Gosh, he looked good in headphones, Sara mused. Better than John Cusack in _High Fidelity_ if that was possible. She watched as the girl that she had just spoken to rushed up to Shaun and hugged him. They started a very animated conversation.

"Well, looks like Shaun is having a good time," Sara remarked, trying very hard to suppress a feeling of jealousy that had crept up out of nowhere.

"Yes, it was quite fortunate for us that he was able to step in at the last minute." He followed her gaze to the DJ and shook his head. "Look, Sara, I'm sure that I don't have to say anything about the disadvantages of developing feelings for a co-worker…"

"No, you don't," she said quickly. "I got the memo. Feelings are bad. Thus, no feelings."

"At all?"

"Nope."

"Good."

"Though I'd still like to know who that tart is with her arms around my man," she said in a mock serious tone. "That was a joke, Michael."

"Oh, right."

Another new arrival approached them in a beat-up brown leather jacket and jeans. He propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward, looking over his round-rimmed sunglasses. "Tell me, what's a nice girl like you doin' in a place like this?" he inquired.

Sara turned to see where the question had come from and looked into a face from her past: Logan Grayson, a fellow American slayer. A man who had fought alongside her from her humble beginnings in the Louisiana Delta, a man who was always cool and calm in any stressful situation, a man who just because he looked a bit like David Duchovny or Brendan Fehr thought that he automatically seemed irresistible to every woman he met.

"Mr. Grayson!" Michael enthused, offering his hand. "Welcome to London! We're so glad you could make it on such short notice."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked him. She then turned on Michael. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"In light of the circumstances, I was forced to call upon the European and North American offices for emergency back-up. Luckily, Mr. Grayson was on holiday in Amsterdam."

"I hopped on the first flight into Heathrow as soon as Mikey told me what was going down." He folded up his sunglasses and placed them in his jacket pocket, his light brown eyes shining with what some would call charisma but what Sara had learned was indeed unbridled arrogance.

"We've got things under control, Grayson," she declared. "Now why don't you just hop back over the Channel and go seduce some poor naïve backpackers?"

"Hey, I came here to help. You've got a room full of humans and a room full of vampires. Unless you want this to turn out like the bar-room scene in _From Dusk Till Dawn_, I suggest we come up with an airtight plan to deal with these bloodsuckers."

"I already have a plan. You're not part of it," she asserted, trying not to sound like a petulant child.

"Come on, Sara," he said with uncharacteristic humility. "I meant it when I said I'm here to help. No more, no less. I'm waving the white flag of truce, okay? Now let me buy you a drink and we can discuss this in civil terms."

Sara looked at him, then looked at Michael and tried to telepathically communicate the harm that she wished to inflict upon him. "Fine," she sighed. "Are you okay here, Michael?"

"Yes, I'll hold down the fort."

She emerged from behind the coat-check counter and followed Grayson's lead through the crowd.

As the bass pulsed through his headphones, Shaun had been so focused on the turntables that he was completely unaware of a woman walking up to him. When he'd looked up, Yvonne's arms were already around his neck.

"Shaun, what on earth are you doing here?" she cried.

"Me? What are _you_ doing here?" he blurted.

"Oh, Dec heard about this event from a friend of a friend. Y'know, it's been ages since I've been to a rave. I can't believe you're here. And doing the DJ thing again. That's great!" she gushed with an enthusiastic smile.

"Look, Yvonne, you really don't want to be here tonight. Something really bad is going down."

"What, are you my dad all of a sudden?" she gasped. "Okay, I promise I won't take any of those white pills. Maybe I'll take just half of one."

"It's not drugs, Yvonne. I can't tell you what it is. But trust me, you need to leave now while you still can."

"Shaun, what's the big deal? The situation looks fairly non-threatening at the moment. And did you see these party favors?" she asked, waving the sharpened piece of wood around. "I think they're taking the Goth thing a little too seriously, if you ask me. Girl at the front said it was some weird American thing. Like what am I gonna' do with a piece of wood?"

"Actually, that might come in handy later."

"Why? For what?" She stared him down. "Shaun, what are you not telling me? What big, bad thing is supposed to happen tonight?" She continued to gesture dramatically, punctuating each question with a jab of the wooden stake toward him, which was making Shaun quite nervous.

"Vampires, okay," he finally blurted.

"Vampires?" she laughed. "Vampires aren't real."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't too long ago we thought zombies weren't real, either. And look how that turned out."

"You're serious? Vampires are going to attack this party?" She looked at him in silence. He definitely looked serious. They'd both survived the horrors of Z-Day; surely he wouldn't joke about another invasion of deadly monsters.

"I knew I should have brought my golf club," she said. "So those people at the front, they know about this?"

"Yeah, that's Michael and Sara. Sara is a vampire slayer."

"Go on," Yvonne huffed in disbelief.

"No, it's true. She's been fighting them for years. She saved my neck in an alley a few weeks ago. Literally." He looked across the room to see how she was doing, but she had disappeared from the coat check booth. She was now standing at the bar with a fairly tall man in a brown jacket. They were having an animated conversation. "Looks like Sara is having a good time," Shaun remarked, trying very hard to suppress a feeling of jealousy that had crept up out of nowhere.


	15. Glow Sticks and Goth Kicks

**DISCLAIMER: Fact—Simon Pegg is the Sexiest Man Alive (deal with it, Jude Law). Fact—"The Amazing Race" is the best reality show ever. Fact—The second album I ever bought was Kate Bush's "Hounds of Love." Fact—All "Shaun of the Dead" characters still belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. But we've worked out a nice time-share deal…**

Grayson led the way to the bar, found an open spot and tried to get the bartender's attention. "You still drinking cider?" he asked Sara.

"Just water, please," she said. "I'm on duty. And so are you apparently."

He ordered his beer and a water for Sara, then turned his attention back to her. "I get the feeling you're not that happy to see me."

"Wow, you were always so perceptive, Grayson."

"And you're still as sarcastic as ever," he observed. "Though your fashion sense has changed quite a bit. Not that I'm complaining. I gotta' say I never thought we'd ever be fighting side by side again," he mused, a winning smile flitting across his face. "I mean, how many years is it now?"

"Not long enough," she muttered.

"You're not really upset about this, are you? Me showing up unannounced?" His big brown eyes searched her own for any slight sign of forgiveness. "Come on, Sara, you know I'm the kind of guy who can't resist the chance to play the hero."

"I also know you're the kind of guy whose idea of a romantic first date is a midnight stroll through a cemetery."

"Hey, we were in training at the time. Can you blame me for trying to mix business with pleasure?"

"I can blame you for standing me up and leaving me to deal with two newly-made vampires on my own."

"Hey, you lived. And that which does not kill you makes you stronger."

"Well, yes, I would say surviving our self-destructive relationship certainly made me stronger. And smarter."

"Not that much smarter if you're still pining for skinny, pale, British guys," he said condescendingly.

"What?"

"You haven't taken your eyes off the DJ all night. I never knew hip-hop was the way to your heart."

"It's not hip-hop, it's electro," she corrected. "Anyway, that's Shaun. He's…a co-worker. So you can stop laboring under the delusion that you're the most eligible bachelor on the Council's payroll."

He laughed and shook his head. "Y'know, I have this theory that slayers have a superhuman ability to hold a grudge," he said, leaning on the bar with one elbow and sipping his beer. "The female ones, anyway."

"They also have an ability to hold an axe and various other sharp weapons," she advised. "Are you absolutely sure you want to have this conversation right now? Because personally, I'd rather direct my hostility at the undead creatures in this room, not at the Deus Ex Wanker who decided to come to the party fashionably late."

"Hey, I got here as soon as I could. Not my fault Michael took his sweet time sending up the bat signal."

"For your information, we were doing fine without you."

"Hmm, you let some ancient vampire wander into the Council building, murder and pillage at will, and leave our entire British unit in a shambles. Yeah, you're doing fine."

"Well, it depends on your interpretation of the word 'fine'," she countered. She looked past him to where a dark-clad figure reached across the bar, pulled one of the female bartenders to him, and sank his teeth into her neck. "And that is _not_ fine!"

"I got this," Grayson said.

"No, I'll deal with it. You get the lights."

"Lights?"

"We've got UV lamps plugged into the lightboard. One switch should activate all of them."

"I'm on it."

He launched into the crowd and Sara pushed toward the attacking vampire. She pried him away from the blond girl's neck and threw a punch at his face. He staggered back but then countered with a punch to her stomach. Taking hold of her hair, he roughly brought her face to meet his knee, then flung her backward onto the floor. She brought her leg round to kick his feet out from under him. As soon as he hit the floor, she pierced his heart with a stake from her leg holster.

The nearby club kids stood in shocked silence. Before the dust could settle, another vamp grabbed Sara from behind and slammed her onto the bar, the force knocking the stake out of her grip. Placing inhumanly strong hands around her neck, he began to squeeze. With one hand on the vamp's face, she tried to push him away, while her other hand searched for some weapon on the bar—a bottle, a glass, an ashtray—but there were only plastic cups. No use at all.

Suddenly something red and metal struck the vamp on the head with a gruesome metallic sound, knocking him away.

After whacking him, Yvonne dropped the fire extinguisher from her hands and picked up Sara's stake, dusting the dazed vamp. Sara slowly rose from the bar, massaging her nearly-crushed throat and staring at her rescuer. To her surprise, it was the same girl that had been hugging and talking to Shaun.

"You're Sara?" she asked with an excited smile.

"Yeah," Sara said slowly.

"I'm Yvonne. Shaun's told me all about you."

"Has he?"

"Now, how do we kill these things?"

"Um, you can use a stake, which you seem to have got the hang of. Beheading, fire…"

"How do we know which ones are vampires?"

Just then, the blinding light of the UV lamps flooded the room. The vampires among the crowd cried out as their skin began to burn and blister. The club kids reacted to the screeching, fanged partygoers with shock, horror and in some cases nonchalance.

"Kill everyone with a sudden tan," Sara advised Yvonne.

Arming herself with another stake, Yvonne turned and began to cut a swath through the burning undead crowd. In the ensuing chaos, vampires and club kids alike began to head for the exit. Yvonne reunited with her boyfriend Declan, and they tried to recruit other partygoers in their staking efforts. The ashen remains of dusted vamps began to mix with the smoke from the fog machines.

Sara rushed to attend to the bitten bartender as she lay on the floor. She removed one of her arm warmers, gave it to the girl and told her to press it hard against the wound to stop the bleeding. Suddenly, she heard a cry from behind her and turned to see a vamp launch itself at her from atop the bar. She raised her right arm to brace herself for the impact. Something flew quickly past her ear, and she was instead hit with a face-full of dust. Coughing, she turned to see Grayson pointing a souped-up crossbow.

"Finally, I get to use my new toy," he smiled.

"A rapid-fire crossbow?" she asked in amazement, examining the weapon. "I thought they only existed in the movies. Where on earth did you get that?"

"It's a Shelton 317. Custom-built for me in Berlin by this girl named Lola."

"Right. Let's put it to good use then. I need you to go and protect Shaun."

"The DJ? Why?" He paused to fire an arrow at a retreating vamp.

"Don't argue with me, just do it." She paused to turn and stake a vamp that was rushing at them. "Any vamp comes near him, they get an arrow through their undead heart. Got it?"

"Whatever."

"Grayson, I'm serious. If anything happens to Shaun, I'm holding you responsible. And don't think I can't come up with some very innovative ways of torture."

"I thought you were saving your hostility for the undead," he reminded.

"For you, I'd make an exception."

"Fine, I'll cover Shaun. But if he plays K.C. and the Sunshine Band, he's toast."


	16. Calm Before the Storm

**DISCLAIMER: Okay, so I'll have to ask you to use your imagination and picture the crazy fight scene that happened at the end of the last chapter and prior to the beginning of this one. You know, something like a combination of Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino, with some snappy dialogue and spectacular stunt sequences, choreographed to some kicking house or trance music. Because I just don't have the budget for that kind of thing. Anyway, moving on… **

A feeling of calm had settled on the once-chaotic scene. The vampires that hadn't escaped were now piles of dust on the warehouse floor, being swept up by Council staffers. Grayson was directing the removal of the UV lamps from the ceiling, and Yvonne and Declan were tending to the wounded partygoers.

After finally stepping away from the turntables, Shaun raided the bar and found some Heineken bottles still left in the fridge. He was on his way back across the room when Michael stopped him. "Ah, Shaun, very well done tonight."

"Thanks. Glad I could be of help."

"I suppose I should make you aware that I've ordered reinforcements from our offices abroad. They should be arriving in the next few hours. So I think you'll be relieved to know that we know longer need your services."

"You what?"

"Don't misunderstand, the Council is very grateful for your contribution. But as zero hour approaches, it's probably best to have only the most highly-trained and experienced operatives in the field."

"Uh, yeah. I understand."

"Good. Pleasure to have worked with you, Shaun. Oh, and best not to mention this to Sara. Not at the present moment, anyway."

"Yeah, sure," he agreed.

Michael smiled, patted him on the arm and walked away. Shaun wasn't quite sure what had just happened. He continued his walk across the ash-strewn warehouse floor and approached Sara as she sat on the edge of the DJ platform. He handed her a cold bottle of Heineken and sat down beside her. "I _hate_ cleaning up after a party," he groaned.

"Me, too. It leaves you feeling so depressed and empty. Although we did kill a lot of vamps with little to no casualties on our side, so hooray for us." She held up her green bottle and Shaun clinked his own bottle against it.

"I trust I fulfilled my very important DJ duties to your satisfaction."

"Well, points off for not playing 'Come On, Eileen,' but otherwise consider me satisfied." She gave him a warm albeit weary smile.

Shaun scanned the room until his eyes came to rest on the man that Sara had been talking to earlier. He was tending to the wounded as well, offering an annoyingly white smile to go with his spiky hair and square jaw. "So who's the new guy?"

"That would be Logan Grayson. He's another slayer from the States. Michael called for reinforcements, and Grayson flew in just in time for the party."

"I saw you talking to him earlier. How do you know him?" Shaun inquired, making a concerted effort to sound casual and disinterested.

"Uh, well, Grayson and I have a bit of a history," she replied, after some careful thought. "All the way back to New Orleans. He was already a slayer when I joined up. He was sort of my mentor at first. We became friends, then we became more than friends, and things were really good for a while. I mean, really good. But as time went on, we started to grow apart, it became clear that we wanted different things out of life, and…"

"Skip to the end," he offered.

"…he slept with my roommate, so I dumped him," she summed up. "Not long after that, he was sent to India. Tonight is the first time I've seen him in years."

"How does that make you feel?"

"I dunno."

"Like breaking a bottle over his head?"

"No," she said with a slight laugh. "Why?"

"Oh, just wanted to see if I was the only one who felt like that."

"Shaun, please, do not waste your time thinking about Grayson. You're twice the man he is. I mean, sure, Grayson is handsome and smart and strong and daring…"

"Okay, not helping…"

"Sorry," she apologized. "Look, Grayson broke my heart. It took a really long time for me to get over it but I did."

"Oh. Well, that's okay then," he said with a shrug.

They both sat there, sipping their beers in silence. Sara glanced at him, hoping that she looked like she was sufficiently over her traumatic past relationship and ready to move on. Shaun glanced at her, hoping that he didn't look pale and skinny compared to the newly-arrived Brad Pitt of the vampire-hunting world.

"So," Shaun began, "have you had a chance to give any more thought to that question I asked you?"

"What question?"

"The one that I asked you before this whole melee started."

"Hmm…I don't recall any question," she said with a sly smile.

"I'm fairly sure that you remember the question," he insisted.

"Still, it's been a really tough night, Shaun. You might need to remind me." She began to lean in toward him.

"Have you always had such bad short-term memory?" he asked with a smile, leaning in as well.

"Mm-hmm," she responded, leaning closer.

"Sara!" a voice from the doorway interrupted.

They both froze. She exhaled in frustration and fell forward, placing her forehead on his shoulder and burying her face in his black shirt. "What?" she cried, barely audible.

"We need your help with these lights," Michael said.

"Fine," she sighed. "Two seconds." She left to help carry the UV lamps outside.

Yvonne came to sit beside Shaun. "Wow, that was exciting!"

"You're telling me."

"All this time, I had no idea there were vampires in this city."

"Well, that's the thing about creatures of darkness. They're not exactly known for being honest and outgoing."

"And this Sara girl—she's like the Emma Peel of demon-killing."

"Yeah, she's…she's great."

"I think she likes you."

Shaun huffed and shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"I think so. It must be really hard to be in a relationship with someone like that, though. It could never last. I mean, you'd always be worried about her, she'd always be worried about you. There'd be this constant, constant stress. Of course, you could always ask her to retire."

"No, no, I couldn't do that. Yvonne, this is her calling. She'd never turn her back on it."

"If she loved someone enough, I think she would. But then she'd start to miss it, y'know. Miss the adrenaline and the fighting evil and the whole justice thing. She wouldn't be happy with a 9 to 5 job, right? And then she'd start to resent you for making her give it up, for making her leave the life that she found so satisfying and full of purpose and—"

"Yvonne!" he interrupted. "For Christ's sake, I've only just met the girl. We work together, we have a laugh together. I'm not planning a wedding at sunset on a Caribbean beach followed by a honeymoon in New Zealand. I really haven't thought about it."

"All right, all right. I'm just saying you have to think these things through. Did she mention why she broke up with Grayson?"

"Other than the fact that he was a complete twat?"

"I'm just wondering because he seems so generous and handsome and strong and daring…"

"Not helping, Yvonne."

"Sorry. It just seems like they're so well-suited to one another, y'know," she suggested. And as he looked at Sara and Grayson working together to help the wounded, he reluctantly agreed. Sara needed someone better, someone higher on the hero scale than an appliance store manager. Someone who didn't take his girlfriend to the same pub night after night. Someone who could keep her safe.

"Anyway," Yvonne cheerily continued, "the important thing is that we all survived a potential massacre tonight. Isn't that great? I mean, doesn't the world now seem full of promise and hope?"

"Yeah, promise and hope." He downed the rest of his beer and hopped off the platform. "Look, can I get a ride home with you and Declan?"

"Sure, of course. Do you want to say goodbye to Sara?"

"No, she's busy. I'll talk to her later." Shaun grabbed his coat and followed Yvonne and Declan out the door.


	17. Shopping for a Solution

**DISCLAIMER: All "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to the dynamic duo of Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. Don't forget to rush out and buy "Shaun of the Dead" on DVD December 21st; it makes a great Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa gift! And now back to our story. **

**Dear readers, you might need to wear some eye protection. There's a lot of loose ends flying around in this chapter…**

The next morning, the Council (or what was left of it) gathered in a smallish room of the Royal Marsden Hospital where the librarian Alexandra was still recovering from wounds received in Davrok's attack on the Council days before. Michael, Grayson and Sara brought chairs into the room and surrounded Lex who continued to work madly on a laptop.

"I gotta' say I'm not too keen on the new conference room," Grayson said. "And the coffee? Definitely sub-par."

"Don't knock it, it's free," Sara reminded, sipping at the bitter brown liquid.

"Right, now that we're all here…" Michael began.

"Wait, where's Shaun?" Sara asked. "It's not like him to miss a meeting. He totally ditched me last night, and now he's late. What is up with him?"

"Actually, Shaun won't be joining us," Michael replied. "I told him that his services were no longer needed since we'll soon be receiving reinforcements from abroad."

"You what?"

"Sara, I need the most well-trained and experienced people in the field when Davrok decides to act. I'm afraid Shaun isn't one of them."

"But Shaun has been a huge help to me. He's just as good a slayer as anybody else on the payroll," she argued. "Look, I trust him with my life. He's like my partner."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Your feelings for Shaun are clouding your judgment, which is exactly what I don't need in the heat of battle," Michael declared. "If we do manage to survive this coming apocalypse, you have my full permission to meet him for a pint. But right now, I need you focused on the mission at hand. Is that clear?"

Sara felt his stern glare and tried to avoid the awkward glances of Lex and Grayson. She decided it was probably best to play by the rules. For now. She would try to contact Shaun later and bring him up to speed. "Yes, sir."

"Now, Alexandra, if you'd be so kind to tell us your progress on the prophecy translation."

"Okay, so bear in mind that my grip on obscure ancient languages is tenuous at best. I mean, Sanskrit? Why did it have to be Sanskrit?"

"I'm fairly sure you're the most qualified person in this room to translate it, Alexandra," Michael stated.

"Right. Anyway, according to this, the ritual must be performed on the Lunar Eclipse. The blood of the troubled woman in white will be shed in order to open the great seal. A wave, or possibly burst, of light will issue forth from the seal which will rid the earth of its unclean masses and bring about an age of permanent darkness in which the soul-less demons will rule."

"Sounds like Las Vegas to me," Grayson remarked.

"So this wave or burst of light is going to kill humans and leave only vampires?" Sara inquired. "That doesn't make sense. Why would they do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"If they wipe out humanity, they wipe out their food supply. Believe me, they're not gonna' be happy feeding on livestock for the rest of eternity."

"Perhaps there's an error in the translation?" Michael suggested.

"No, no errors, Michael," Lex assured. "I've been over this a hundred times, using the most up-to-date translation codes."

"Well, what about this great seal?" Grayson asked. "What does it look like? If we find it first, maybe we can…I dunno, shut it off."

"We've no idea what kind of seal they're referring to," Michael said. "It could be pagan, Celtic, Catholic."

"If it's Catholic, someone in the Vatican would be able to tell us."

"I'm guessing if it holds some kind of light to rid the earth of unclean masses, it would be on consecrated ground," Sara offered.

"Davrok's a vampire. Why would he willingly go on consecrated ground?"

"If he wanted it badly enough, he'd probably swim through holy water."

"I'm afraid I can't find any further information on the seal," Lex said. "If we knew its proper name, we could trace its origin in the relics index."

Sara suddenly remembered the journal that she and Shaun had found. To her immense relief, it was still in her backpack. For once, she was glad she had procrastinated doing any cleaning or organizing. "Hang on, this journal was in Ryland's office," she said, handing the small leather-bound book to Lex. "He's been researching the ritual. I'm betting he has a record of where this seal is and what it looks like."

"Well done, Sara," Michael said.

"Actually, Shaun found it. Maybe you should thank him," she replied harshly.

"Well, we have yet to see if it's of any help."

Lex flipped through the pages for drawings or diagrams. Finally her eyes landed on a page with a circular drawing of complex intertwined knots and demonic faces. "Jackpot! La Trayectoria Luz."

"What does that mean?" Grayson inquired.

"The Path to the light," Sara answered. "Sometimes I am so stupid. This writing isn't Serbian, it's Spanish."

"Spanish?"

"It makes sense. When was the last time a Catholic sat on the throne?"

"It would have to have been before Henry VIII established the Church of England."

"Exactly. His first wife, Catherine of Aragon, was a Spanish princess and a devout Catholic. She was the last real bastion of the Catholic Church in this country."

"So you're thinking either the Catholic Church created this seal as retribution against the English heretics, or the English created it as a means to cleanse their country of Catholics," Lex elaborated.

"It's a reach," Michael doubted.

"But it gives us somewhere to start," Sara said.

"You said it would be on consecrated ground," Grayson continued. "So how many churches are there in London?"

"Within the city limits, around 50," Lex replied.

"Then we better get started." He tossed Sara her backpack and picked up his own. "Ladies first."

"If we split up, we'll cover more ground," she stated, not at all pleased at the thought of sharing a car with him.

"It's hard to cover ground when you don't have a car," Michael interjected.

"Oh, throw _that_ in my face. Look, just drop me off at the Council and I'll get another car from the garage."

"Fine," Grayson agreed, grabbing the journal and heading for a copy machine. "The sooner we find this thing, the sooner I can be on my way to Finland."

"What's in Finland?" she asked.

"Stewardess convention."

"I think they're called flight attendants now," she corrected.

"Whatever. It's gotta' be more fun than looking for this seal of whatchamacallit...."

"La Trayectoria Luz," Ryland repeated, looking up from the unrolled parchment on his desk. "It was so kind of the Council to donate these blueprints to us. Makes my job a great deal easier."

"You have found the seal?" Davrok asked.

"Right where I thought it would be. It was damn foolish of me to lose my journal but I think I can piece the ritual together from these parchments. Certainly helps to have an exact location. I was getting quite tired of all this vague 'great seal' nonsense."

"What do we require for the ritual?"

"Oh, a silver dagger, the blood of the slayer to open La Trayectoria Luz, the words of a medieval Spanish monk, a one-way ticket to Cambridgeshire, and some vanilla incense."

"Does this incense have mystical powers?"

"No, I just like the way it smells," Ryland replied.

That day, Shaun was back at work at Foree Electric. He had chosen not to think about vampires or prophecies or anything supernatural anymore. Just focus on moving inventory and keeping his uppity underlings in line. He was in the middle of telling a couple about the advantages of the TK 421 model refrigerator when a very upset-looking woman entered the store. "Excuse me just a moment," he apologized. "Can I help you?" he asked, ducking behind the counter as she approached.

"Shaun, where have you been?" Sara asked desperately. "I've tried calling, I went round your house."

"As you can see, I am busy with work."

"What?"

"I'm doing my job, Sara. I'm sorry it's not as glamorous as fighting demons and all, but I have certain responsibilities here."

"Responsibilities? What about your responsibilities to the Council? Duties that are slightly more important than selling refrigerators. Our work isn't done."

"Actually, my work is. I was just a temp anyway. I'm sure Captain America or whatever his name is can pick up the slack."

"You mean Grayson? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Well, I don't know. I'm not the one who has a 'history' with him."

"And he's not the one I was kissing last night," she protested. "I'm sorry if him being here makes you feel insecure or something, but there is absolutely nothing going on between me and Grayson. What do I have to say to make you believe that?"

"Look," he sighed and leveled his gaze on her. "We are part of two very different worlds, Sara, and I just don't think it's gonna' work between us."

"Wait, what? Shaun, this isn't about us. It's about stopping the world from ending in two days."

"See, I think you're just being melodramatic. Everyone thought the world was ending on Z-Day, but it didn't. We're all still here."

She crossed her arms and stared at him, as if staring would somehow reveal the reason for the change in his behavior. "Why are you being like this?" she asked softly.

"Like what?" He dismissively shrugged.

"Like a massive wanker. What happened? Did I say or do something wrong? Did Michael say something to you?"

"He said that I was no longer needed."

"Oh, sod Michael. Since when did you start caring what he says anyway? This city needs you." She paused and tried to convey her next sentence with appropriate emotion rather than desperation. "_I_ need you, Shaun. Doesn't that matter?"

He looked away and didn't want to face her. Of course it mattered. Liz never told him that she needed him. Now here Sara was saying that she needed him and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't say yes. "Look, I'm sorry that I can't be there for you, Sara. But I have a job to do here."

"Right," she nodded slowly. "Well, I hope that you enjoyed that kiss last night because it's the last one you will ever get from me."

"Oh, because you've gone off me now?" he taunted.

"No, Shaun, because the fucking world is going to end!" she cried. "Kinda' puts a damper on everyone's snogging plans now, doesn't it?" She turned and stormed out of the store, ignoring the shocked expressions of the customers.

"Have a nice day," he called after her.

"Bugger off, Shaun!" she shouted, slamming the door.

Returning his attention to the couple, he smiled cordially and said, "See, now _that_ is what happens when you choose the wrong model of refrigerator."


	18. A Pint or Two of Bitter

**DISCLAIMER: You know how it's the little things that can make you happy sometimes? Like being carded at a certain huge discount store (which shall remain nameless) when I tried to buy an R-rated DVD, even though age 17 was a long time ago. Or finding "The Fifth Element"on TV and watching it for the umpteenth time and still not being able to figure out why Gary Oldman's character has a Southern accent. Or getting a copy of the premiere issue of _The New Avengers_ from the nice man behind the counter at the comic book store, even though the wall display said it was sold out. Good times.**

**Yeah, yeah, the characters from "Shaun of the Dead" don't belong to me. Can you spot the reference to my fellow writer JessicaDwyer's story, "Shaun of the Dead 2: Deadhead Boogaloo?" If you do, valuable prizes might be in store for you. Or they might not.**

Lex continued to frantically flip through Ryland's journal, having to translate Spanish, Latin and Romanian passages concurrently. She was nearing sensory overload when she began to notice a pattern. She looked over to Michael who'd fallen asleep in the chair beside her hospital bed. "Michael? Michael, wake up! I think I've got it."

"Got what?" he groaned wearily.

"The missing link. It all comes back to Catherine of Aragon. Spanish ironworkers forged the seal and entrusted it to her. We just have to figure out exactly where she went after she was divorced from Henry VIII. That's where we'll find La Trayectoria Luz."

"Well done, Lex. Now you go back to reading and wake me when Grayson and Sara get back." He laid his head back against the chair and resumed his slumber.

Hours of searching half the churches in London and she'd had no luck. They were no closer to finding the seal and no closer to figuring out a way to stop Davrok. Not that Sara's mind was really focused on that; she was too busy replaying her earlier confrontation with Shaun over and over in her head and wondering where the sudden change in his behavior had come from. And wondering whether she could have handled things a bit better.

She wearily climbed the steps to her flat, opened the door and stepped into her dark and quiet den/kitchen/living room as the last few rays of sunlight filtered through the window. In a few hours, she'd be expected back at Lex's hospital room to give a progress report. But what was the point if there was no progress? She tossed her keys and backpack onto the table and grabbed a Pepsi from the refrigerator, collapsing into the nearest chair.

As she tried to contemplate her next move, there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" she called.

Her downstairs neighbor Jessica opened the door and peeked inside. "Hey! I heard you come in. Is this a good time?"

"I'm beginning to doubt there is such a thing, but come in anyway. Can I get you a drink or anything?"

"No, no. Just thought I'd stop by to see how the new look went over last night," she inquired, taking a seat at the table, blue eyes wide with excitement.

"Looking like Death? It was a big hit with the boys."

Jess adopted a hurt expression. "Well, I didn't think you looked _that_ bad."

"No, I mean like the character Death. Neil Gaiman portrays her as a goth chick in his _Sandman_ series."

"Ohh-kay. So how was the party?"

"Oh, it had everything. Sex, drugs, violence, and gratuitous use of glow sticks."

"Sounds like fun. So you'll invite me to the next party then?"

"Absolutely," she said. She placed her head in her hands and leaned forward onto the table. "Oh, how can men be such bastards, Jess?"

"They get a lot of practice," Jess replied. "Something go wrong with Shaun?"

"I don't know. All this time, I was fairly certain that he _wasn't_ a bastard, but then suddenly this morning when I went to see him, he'd changed. He treated me like a total stranger," she said sadly. "I mean, every relationship has its ups and downs. That's a given. But Shaun was never like that. He was predictable, he was reliable, he was a port in the crazy storm that is my life. And now he's chucked me and I'm suddenly…portless. I don't want to be portless." She laid her head down on the cold surface of the table.

"Now, now, pickle," Jessica consoled. "I'm sure Shaun isn't leaving you…portless. There must be a reason."

"I guess it could have something to do with my ex-boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend?"

"Yes. The bloody wanker saunters in last night with his spiky hair and his leather jacket all, 'Ooh, look at me, aren't I still annoyingly handsome and heroic?' They should have some kind of policy against letting such smug bastards into the country."

"If that were the case, where would I find my next boyfriend?" Jessica wondered. Sara glared at her. "Sorry, sorry, this is about you."

"Right. So not only do I have to deal with Mr. Tall, Dark and Haughty, but then Shaun goes and pulls an Angelus, and I don't even get the benefit of sleeping with him first."

"Angelus?"

"Buffy reference," Sara explained. "It's when Mr. Right suddenly turns into Mr. Hideously Wrong overnight."

"Oh, yeah. Been there."

"I don't know, Jess," she sighed. "Sometimes I wish I'd never met him. I mean, why would Fate cruelly taunt me with the possibility of happiness and then yank it away, laughing maniacally? I must have been a really bad person in a past life. I must have been like Lucrezia Borgia or something. And to top it off, now I have to face this imminent apocalypse all by myself," she groaned.

"Apocalypse?" Jess repeated, trying to make sense of her neighbor's jumbled rantings.

"Um, nothing," Sara said quickly. "Nevermind."

Jessica slowly nodded and placed her hands on the table, interlacing her fingers. "Listen," she began, not at all looking forward to saying what she was about to say. "I know you don't exactly need anymore bad news right now, but Marcia says that if you don't have your rent check in her letterbox by tomorrow morning, she'll be forced to evict you."

Sara shook her head. She was stumbling blindly from one crisis to another. How had her life spun so quickly out of control? "Well, just…" she started, "just tell her to do what she has to do."

"Ohh-kay. You know, you look like hell. Maybe you should get some sleep."

"Ah, if only. What about you? What are you up to tonight?"

"Slick's out with Edgar, so I've got the place to myself. I'm thinking Bruce Campbell film festival and buckets of popcorn with tons of artery-clogging butter."

Sara sighed wistfully. "Why aren't there more men like Bruce out there?"

"That is one of life's great mysteries," Jessica mused. "If you feel like watching zombie carnage, you're welcome to join me.

"Thanks, but I've still got work to do."

"Okay. Good night, see you later!"

"Bye, Jess!" she said as Jessica closed the door behind her.

Sara got up from the table and walked over to the blinking answering machine. She pushed the play button and was treated to the irritated voice of her boss at the record store. "It's been three days without a word from you. I don't know how you people do things in America, but in this country, that is irresponsible and shows that you lack the kind of strong ethic needed to work at Vinyl Island. So consider yourself sacked, Sara. You can pick up your last paycheck next week, if you're not passed out on the side of the road somewhere." BEEEP.

Well, that was just great, she thought. The end of the world was actually starting to look like an attractive prospect.

She walked over to her bookcase and stared at her shelf full of history books. The answer had to be there somewhere. They knew the seal was somewhere in England, because the Council had been monitoring Ryland's financial transactions and so far he'd made no travel arrangements. Maybe he was waiting till the last minute to minimize the risk of anyone following him. She looked at her watch. "Well, he still has time to make the midnight train across the Channel," she said to herself.

Then the answer smacked her in the face. If Ryland and Davrok were going to do any traveling, it would be by night. And it would be _tonight_ in order to prepare for the following night's Lunar Eclipse. But no one was keeping watch on Ryland's flat. She didn't exactly want to go back there after Will's death, but it was the easiest way to track him. She grabbed some snacks and a few more soda cans for her impromptu stake-out, stuffed them into her backpack and headed back out the door.

Hours of working at the shop and he'd had no luck. Shaun had managed to sell a toasted sandwich maker and a few alarm clocks, but nothing major. Nothing that would bring the sizable commissions he so desperately wanted. He wearily walked up to the bar of the pub, ordered his pint, and settled into a booth in the back corner.

He tried not to think about it, but he couldn't forget how upset Sara had been this morning. What was the proper way to apologize for backing out of a mission to save the world? Flowers, chocolates, the full collection of _Farscape_ on DVD?

As he tried to contemplate his next move, he became aware of someone standing beside him.

"Is this seat taken?" an American voice asked.

Shaun looked up to see the annoyingly handsome slayer that had breezed into town the night before. "Bloody hell, what are you doing here?" he asked wearily.

"Well, I heard this was a good place to get a drink. And right now I could use one." Grayson placed his pint on the table and took the chair across from Shaun.

"Long day?"

"Yeah, and it's not over yet. Still have to go meet up with the Council to discuss the gameplan."

"How very exciting for you."

Grayson leaned back in his chair and adopted an air of charm and sweetness. "You know, Shaun, I don't get where all this contempt is coming from. We're on the same team."

"Actually, we're not," he corrected. "Michael relieved me of my responsibilities last night."

"Oh, right. So it's back to the exciting mission of selling appliances, huh?"

"Hey, I provide a valuable service to this community," Shaun declared with pride. "What have you contributed to society lately, besides your spiky hair and your square jaw and your ability to smolder in a brown leather coat?"

"Well, there is that whole thing about protecting the innocent by killing demons."

"Oh, throw _that_ in my face."

"Look, if this is some kind of jealousy thing—"

Shaun laughed and shook his head insistently. "I am _not_ jealous of you."

"You view me as a threat because I have a history with Sara."

"I do not view you as a threat," he asserted. "Okay, maybe I was in the fragile early stages of what could have possibly been a closer relationship with Sara, and maybe your showing up looking all heroic could have had the potential to exacerbate things, but that doesn't matter now. I'm out of the Council, I'm out of this war against vampires, and I'm out of Sara's life. And don't flatter yourself that it's because of you."

"Strong words," Grayson observed. "Do you actually believe any of that?"

"No," Shaun muttered. "But I do believe that Sara is better off without me."

"I don't think she'd agree with you on that. Have you told her about this decision?"

"I was trying to avoid a confrontation. Because frankly, I like my face and I'd rather not have it ripped off."

"I still think you owe her an explanation, Shaun. Sara may have some enhanced abilities, but she's still just a girl with the same feelings and insecurities as everyone else. Coupled with the fact that she has a double dose of Irish and Southern stubbornness. If you don't talk to her and explain the situation, she will haunt you. Possibly literally."

"Look, I'm trying to be noble and unselfish and do what's best for her," he insisted. "And what do I get for it? A brutal tongue-lashing from Sara this morning and now a lecture from you. I'm beginning to wish…I just…sometimes I wish I'd never met her."

"Yeah," Grayson nodded, sipping his pint. "But then you would have missed out on her kindness, her laugh, that warm feeling you get when she smiles at you, the way she listens to you and makes you believe that you're the most important person in the world to her."

Shaun glared at him darkly from across the table. "You want her back, don't you?"

Grayson stifled a laugh. "That ship has sailed, Shaun."

"More like you capsized it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You work it out."

It took a moment but Grayson did work it out. "So she told you the story, huh?" he asked with a pained expression. "Look, I just want whatever Sara wants. And if for some unknown reason that happens to be you…well, I'll learn to live with it." Suddenly, the pager on his waist started beeping. He unclipped it from his belt and glanced at the number. "Duty calls. Later, Shaun."

Grayson started to walk away but turned back quickly. "Oh, and thanks for the drink." With a wink, he left, and Shaun was faced with an expectant bartender staring him down and awaiting payment. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly and laid his head down on the hard wooden surface of the table.


	19. Stakeout and About

**DISCLAIMER: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…No, that's no good. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…No, that's complete rubbish. Let's just keep it simple then. Our story of Shaun continues. Tune in next week when you'll hear the author say, "I demand more vanilla frappuccino now!" **

The night seemed to grow even colder and darker as Shaun made his way home. He swung open the fence and trudged up to the front door, entering his dark and quiet house. It was at times like this, when he felt completely and utterly alone, that he was glad to remember he actually wasn't.

Making his way out to the garden shed, he was careful to keep an eye out for nosy neighbors peering down from their windows. He was surprised that he'd managed to keep his zombie friend Ed undetected for so long, and now he'd gotten so used to having the big lug around, decaying flesh and the occasional attempted bite notwithstanding.

Shaun took a seat in front of the TV and picked up one of the Playstation 2 controllers. "So what'll be tonight, Ed? Gran Turismo, Medal of Honor or Splinter Cell?"

Ed's hand, bound in chains, sort of gestured to one of the boxes.

"Medal of Honor it is, then." He popped the disk into the player and they waited while the game cued itself up. "I have to say I'm finding myself in a very confusing place, my friend," Shaun confided. "You know, it's like I'm at this crossroads and I don't know which way to go. Because I've got a feeling that pain and/or dismemberment lies at the end of whichever path I choose."

The rotting hulk of Ed's head turned to him, eyes staring with white-glazed vacancy.

"I know, I know," Shaun said. "I'll just shut up and play the game, shall I?"

Empty soda cans and snack wrappers were scattered around the floorboard of the Volkswagen Jetta she'd borrowed from the Council garage. Sara felt like she'd been sitting on this quiet street in Southwark for an eternity. She tried to make the stake-out more fun by imagining William L. Petersen or Chris Noth in the passenger seat, but it didn't help. There was no movement in Ryland's flat. There had been no movement for hours. As the CD player was finishing up a second run of _Aimee Mann's Ultimate Collection_, her eyelids were getting heavy and she just wanted to sleep.

The loud ringing of her cell phone abruptly broke the silence. "Krycek?!" she gasped and bolted upright. As she struggled to wake up, she picked up the phone. "Hello?" she answered sleepily.

"Sara, it's Michael. Where are you? Why aren't you here?"

"Um, I'm on my way there right now," she lied. "Traffic's really bad."

"Well, get here as soon as you can. In the meantime, I'll tell you what we know. According to Ryland's journal, La Trayectoria Luz has a direct correlation to Catherine of Aragon. We're thinking it's either located in Kimbolton Castle, where she served her last years of exile, or in Peterborough Abbey, where she's buried."

"Where are they located?"

"Cambridgeshire. And Kimbolton Castle is now Kimbolton School. So if Davrok succeeds in opening that seal…"

"He'll have plenty of snacks at the ready," she completed. "Okay, did we come up with a way to stop this ritual yet?"

"No, we're still working on that. Alexandra's doing her best to decipher Ryland's notes but they're a bit scattershot."

"So our best bet is to find this troubled woman in white and keep her away from the seal."

"Yes, saving the girl should be our top priority."

"Hang on, there's movement at Ryland's flat." Sara stared intently as a tall, bespectacled man hurried down the stairs to a parked car and placed several cases in the trunk.

"Movement at whose flat? Sara, are you staking out Ryland's residence without permission?" Michael demanded impatiently.

"Sort of," she hesitantly replied. "Look, if they travel anywhere, they'll have to do it at night, right? We're already five steps behind this guy, I don't want to fall further back."

"All right, keep an eye on him, but make sure you're not seen."

"I'll be as unseen as a Ben Affleck movie," she assured, hanging up the phone.

Michael looked up at Lex and Grayson. "She's staked out Ryland's flat. Without authorization, I might add. Anyway, she thinks that Ryland and Davrok are on the move to Cambridgeshire. I told her to follow them.

As she flipped another journal page, Lex muttered gravely, "Oh…oops,"

"Oops?" Grayson repeated. "Why did you say 'oops'?"

"I'm afraid I did make a mistake in the translation. You see, ancient Sanskrit was never meant to be literal. I was translating the conjugation incorrectly…"

"Why the 'oops,' Lex?" Grayson insisted.

"I misread the word 'warrior' as 'troubled.' You see, the root of the word 'trouble' can be conjugated to mean 'troubled,' 'troubling,' or 'troublesome,' which is quite similar to the root word for 'warrior'…"

"Get to the point, Lex."

"Sara won't be able to stop the sacrifice," she stated.

"Why not?"

"She _is_ the sacrifice."

The three of them exchanged concerned glances.

"We've just sent her to her death," Michael said slowly.

"Not if I can help it," Grayson declared. "Call every operative in the area and get them to Kimbolton Castle ASAP."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go pick up a co-worker," he said, rushing out of the hospital room.

Shaun had collapsed on the living room couch again after an all-nightsession of video games. He was woken up by an insistent knocking at the front door. He reluctantly pulled himself off the couch and stumbled into the hallway, opening the door to find Grayson.

"Look, mate," Shaun said sleepily. "I don't go in for pistols at dawn. Can it wait until noon? Or never?"

"I'm not here for a duel, Shaun. I need your help."

"How did you find me?"

"Council keeps personnel records online," he casually replied. "And by the way, what's with your fear of pieces of wood? Seems odd for a slayer to be afraid of his own weapon…"

"It's none of your business," Shaun protested. "Look, the last guy who stood there and told me that he needed my help wound up gutted on the floor of a spacious apartment by the river, so you'll excuse me if I'm not that excited."

"Sara's in trouble. If we don't do something, she'll die."

"At this point, I think she'd rather die than accept help from me."

"Shaun, she's gone to face Davrok alone. And he will kill her, because it's her blood that opens the seal and unleashes hell on earth. You can begin to see the seriousness of the situation."

"Uh, yeah. Come in, I'll put the kettle on."


	20. Tea and Tour Guides

**DISCLAIMER: Okay, should I be dismayed that The Clash recently sold out to a car commercial? Or should I just accept the sad truth that the integrity of all artists has a price? Especially if it comes with a sunroof, satellite radio, DVD player, and OnStar system. Heck, I might even sell out for that. Aw, who am I kidding? I'd sell out for a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a _Princess Bride_ DVD.**

**Ladies and gentleman, buckle your seatbelts for the Act III climax of our story. Or the early beginnings of it, at least…**

Shaun downed his second cup of tea. "Right, so what do we know?"

Grayson looked at the clock, whose hours were passing far too quickly. "Well, sometime between 10:13 and 11:21 tonight during the Lunar Eclipse, Davrok will use Sara's blood to open a seal called La Trayectoria Luz. Darkness and death will ensue unless we stop it."

"And the seal is where?"

"We're thinking Kimbolton Castle. It's the last place that Katherine of Aragon lived in exile. The seal would most likely have been placed in her private chapel on the grounds. Probably in an older part of the castle that hasn't been renovated for the present-day Kimbolton School."

"And how many vampires do we think will be attending this grand opening?"

"Hundreds."

Shaun got up from the kitchen table and paced while he absorbed the information.

"So what's the plan?" Grayson asked.

Then Shaun turned quickly, placing his hand thoughtfully on his chin. "Right…We take your car, go round to the Council, pick up all those UV lamps we used at the rave, drive to Kimbolton, turn on the lamps to toast the vampires, kill Davrok, rescue Sara, and be home in time for tea and Trisha."

"It's an old castle, Shaun. We don't know if it has electrical outlets that could handle that kind of power surge. Plus the UV rays only burn vamps, they don't kill them. We'd still have to deal with hundreds of vampires, which would greatly reduce any chance of saving Sara."

"Okay then. We take your car, drive to Kimbolton, let all the vampires gather in the chapel, lock the door once they're inside, and then when the sun comes up, we open the door and toast them, kill Davrok, rescue Sara, and be home in time for tea and Trisha."

"We save Sara by locking her in a room for several hours with hundreds of bloodthirsty vampires?"

"Good point."

"Besides, there may be other exits and entrances we don't know about. Catacombs, dungeons. We haven't had time to do a thorough assessment of the building."

"Look, we can't waste time assessing."

"I agree."

Shaun realized they were going to need something bloody spectacular to resolve the situation. "Do you know where we could get our hands on some explosives?"

"Well, the Council usually keeps some in an underground safe," Grayson answered.

"Have you ever used them?"

"Yeah. It's not my favorite method, but I've had to use nitro a few times on some vamp nests in Mexico."

"Good, because I think I just came up with a new plan. I've got to go out to the garden shed."

"Why are you going to the garden shed?"

"I need supplies."

"What supplies?"

"My friend Ed."

"What?"

"My zombie friend Ed, he's in the shed."

"Your zombie friend Ed in the shed?"

"That's what I said."

"I thought Ed was dead."

"He is, but now he's a zombie instead."

"Shaun, you are not right in the head."

"Look, this is starting to sound like a Dr. Seuss book. After weighing all our options, I think this is the one with the lowest human casualty count and the highest vampire one."

"Casualty count?"

"We can't send anyone in there, right? Anyone with fresh blood? Ed doesn't have any. The vampires won't go for him. So we strap some explosives onto him and use him as a suicide bomber. It's the easiest way to take out all the vampires at once."

"No, no, no. Shaun, I am not okay with this plan. Not only does it put Sara in even more danger, but what if Ed bites someone before we even get there? What if he bites you or me? Then we'll have a zombie infestation on top of the vampire one."

"He hasn't bitten me," Shaun insisted. "He hasn't even tried lately. He's tame."

"A tame zombie? You expect me to believe that? As if he could ever lose the characteristic desire for fresh blood."

"If you've got another plan, Grayson, I'd be happy to hear it," he snapped, turning on him. "Right now, this is the best we've got. I don't know why you're getting so freaked out anyway. You deal with the undead on a daily basis."

"Yes, a completely different kind of undead. Vampires still look human. They have clear complexions, and their body parts are largely intact," he countered, with a shudder.

"Just go wait in the car then," he ordered.

"Fine."

"Zombie-ist," he called to Grayson's retreating back. Shaun hesitantly walked across the garden, entered the shed and prepared to undo Ed's restraints. "Well, Ed, ready to save the world?"

The zombie looked up at him with a white-glazed stare that Shaun took as an affirmative. He unhooked Ed's chain from the wall, but left the shackles on his arm. Placing a blanket over him, he hustled (or tried to hustle) Ed into Grayson's waiting Range Rover. He helped Ed into the backseat and made sure to buckle the seatbelt, then jumped into the passenger seat.

As Grayson started up the car, the sound of REM's song "It's the End of the World (As We Know It)" loudly filled the interior.

"Sorry," Grayson said, with a sheepish grin and quickly switched to a different CD.

Meanwhile, Sara was patiently waiting on the grounds of Kimbolton Castle. After following Ryland and Davrok there all the way from London, she'd watched them enter the castle before sunrise. She waited and waited for any further sign of movement. They hadn't left the building, nor had she seen any sign of the sacrificial girl whose blood was supposed to open the seal. Maybe she was already being held inside.

Equipping herself with various weapons, she decided to go in and investigate. She was steeling herself for a quick sprint across the open lawn to the front door when her cell phone rang, making her nearly jump out of her skin. "Bloody hell, stop doing that!" she yelled at the inanimate object before answering the call. "Hello?"

"Sara, it's Michael. Where are you?"

"Sitting outside Kimbolton Castle."

"Where are Ryland and Davrok?"

"Inside the castle. They went in before sunrise. I haven't seen them since."

"Listen, the seal is located in Katherine of Aragon's private chapel, in the old part of the castle. I've contacted the headmaster of Kimbolton School. He's expecting you. I've advised him to evacuate the school and…" Static made the rest of his sentence inaudible.

"Michael, you're breaking up. What did you say?"

"Your first priority…minimize the casualties…evacuate the school."

"What about the ritual? Have you figured out a way to stop it?"

"We're still trying to decipher Ryland's notes…" More static. "But you should not…" Even more static.

"Michael, I can't hear you! I should not what? Michael? Michael?" The call was lost. The phone was unable to get a signal this far out in the country. Perfect. Well, at least she knew the headmaster was expecting her. She grabbed a grey trenchcoat out of the backseat, threw it on and tied it at the waist to conceal all her weaponry. Then she walked calmly across the lawn, up the steps of the columned entrance and through the front door.

She smiled at the receptionist at the front desk. "Hello, I believe the headmaster is expecting me," she proclaimed.

"Ah, yes, you must be Misses Davenport. So lovely to meet you. The headmaster is in a meeting at the moment, but he's arranged for one of the instructors to give you a tour of the place. I'm sure you'll find that this is the perfect school for your son."

"My son?!" she spurted.

"Yes, little Jordan. If you want him to be a top barrister like his father, you would certainly want him to obtain the best education possible."

"Yes, certainly," she stammered. So her cover story was that she was a barrister's wife with a son called Jordan? It would have been nice for Michael to mention that on the phone.

"Ah, here's Mister Barnaby," the receptionist beamed as a distinguished looking man approached.

"Good day, Misses Davenport. How was the drive from Cambridge?"

"It was lovely, thank you for asking. Shall we get started on the tour? I have an appointment later that I mustn't be late for."

"Of course. Follow me please." He led the way up the staircase to the second floor. She pretended to listen intently as they walked and he droned on about the history of the school, its distinguished alumni, its stellar academic programs. After what seemed like hours, he stopped at a doorway. "And through here, is the oldest part of the castle. This was where Katherine of Aragon established her residence while she was in exile. Terribly sad story."

"Yeah, no kidding. But she did manage to keep her head on straight, huh?" she laughed, though she could tell from his stern expression that the joke was lost on him.

"This concludes your tour." He started to walk back the way they had come.

"I was really hoping to see that part of the castle," she attempted.

"I'm afraid we don't allow visitors in there. I must insist that you follow me back to the lobby."

As his back was turned, she removed a dagger from her belt and poised the blunt hilt of it over the base of his skull. "I'm terribly sorry about this," she whispered and struck him, knocking him unconscious. She opened a nearby door and found it to be some sort of storage closet. She dragged him into the room and propped him up against the wall. "You'll have a splitting headache when you wake up, but you'll be fine. I hope."

She closed the door and then made her way into the forbidden area where a long corridor stretched into darkness before her. She continued along the corridor, down a narrow flight of stairs, along another darker and colder corridor that led to an imposing set of double doors. She slowly opened them and peeked inside. The chamber was lit only by torches. She stepped inside and silently shut the door, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She could see two figures ahead of her, moving around the altar at the far end of the room, and she knew she was in the right place.


	21. Confrontations

**DISCLAIMER: I realize that with the current obesity epidemic in our country, we have to get used to phrases like "low-carb" and "Atkins-friendly" and "South Beach Diet." But for the love of all that is holy, please do not let Arby's start referring to carbohydrates as "carbies." It's just wrong, people. That oven mitt needs to meet with an unfortunate kitchen accident…**

**Once again, the "Shaun of the Dead" characters belong to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. I am merely their devotee, their minion, their underling, their literary lackey.**

Inside the chapel, Ryland continued to place the various pieces needed for the ritual on the altar table. "Oh, bugger," he said abruptly.

"What is it?" Davrok asked.

"I forgot the silver dagger," he replied in exasperation. "I must have left it in the car. I'll be right back. Don't start the ritual without me." He hurried out through an exit behind the altar.

Davrok kneeled before the altar, holding the hilt of his sword even with his eyes. "For too long the weak humans have walked this earth. This night, we will reclaim the world that was once ours. I will restore the Old Ones to their former majesty. At last I will fulfill my destiny."

"What's up, D?" an interrupting female voice drifted out of the shadows. "Sorry I'm late for the party. Guess my invitation got lost in the mail, huh?"

"Slayer," he turned and growled.

"In the flesh," she replied, stepping into the flickering torchlight. "Speaking of flesh, yours is looking a little tired. But that's okay; a few antioxidants, maybe a chemical peel, and you won't look a day over 600."

"I have been waiting for you, Slayer."

"Aw, that's sweet." Sara grabbed an iron torch off the wall as she continued into the room. "You know, I'll never understand what it is about megalomaniacal vampires and torches. It's like this weird masochistic thing. I mean, come on. Fire? Not the best choice of lighting décor."

"I have waited patiently to taste your blood, to rip your tender flesh from its bones, to hear you scream till there is no longer breath in your lungs…"

"Right. Blah blah torturecakes. Are you gonna' bark all day, little doggie? Or are you gonna' bite?"

"For your arrogance, I shall see you dead, insolent strumpet!"

"Strumpet?" she repeated in disbelief. "You really gotta' bring your trash talk into the 21st century, D. Don't get me wrong, I've had my share of insolence and strumpetry, but the Elizabethan insults? Not exactly making me quake with fear."

"You are not afraid to face me?"

"Well, in the last few days, I've lost my best friend, my car, my flat, my job, and my potential love interest. So the way I see it, I got nothing left to lose."

"You have your life," he said, swinging his broadsword. She blocked it with the iron torch. The clang of metal on metal reverberated through the chapel, and the shockwave vibrated through Sara's shoulders. She quickly realized this might be one of the strongest vampires she'd ever faced. Note to self, she thought, cut off his head first and quip later.

She summoned all her strength and used the torch to push him back against the altar table. "You think you've got what it takes to bring about the end of the world, fangboy? I've seen better apocalyptic rituals in a suburban basement in Tuscaloosa."

"I had what it takes to bring down the Council. A just and fair retribution for the incessant killing of my children."

"Yeah, well, you've killed a lot of my friends. I'm here to return the favor." She pulled the torch away and rammed the sharp end into his right foot, pinning him to the floor. "And it was terribly inconsiderate of me to bring a torch to a swordfight." She unsheathed a sword from the scabbard on her back. "So let's settle this."

Davrok winced as he pulled the torch out of his foot and tossed it aside. He swung his broadsword and she blocked it. They continued to trade thrust for parry, moving across the chamber. Sara tried to use her smaller size and quicker speed to outmaneuver him, but she was getting tired and swordplay had never been her strong point.

She deflected his sword, and as he passed her, she heaved a kick at his back, slamming him into a wall. Unfazed, he brought his arm around for a forceful backhand punch. Before she could regain her footing, he punched her again. She hit the floor, and the sword left her grasp. Davrok ripped a stone statue from its foundation and threw it towards her, but she rolled quickly out of the way as it smashed into pieces.

Not quickly enough, though. As she tried to crawl toward her sword, Davrok placed his foot on her neck and pinned her to the floor with unexpected strength. She felt like the vertebrae in her neck were being crushed. "You thought you could defeat me?" he asked, removing his foot to launch a solid kick to her ribs. "I've defeated armies, ransacked and burned entire villages, and now I hold the fate of the world in my grasp. A little girl could not stop me."

"You forget," she noted, "I'm a little girl, with a lot of knives." She pulled a large dagger from a shoulder holster and plunged it into his leg. As he cried out in pain, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed her sword again.

He snarled as he removed the dagger and began to advance on her again. "I would have made your death quick and painless, Slayer. Now I shall revoke that privilege." He began his attack with renewed strength. She tried her best to block each swing of his sword, but each blow was coming closer to hitting a vital organ.

When they locked swords again, she forced his blade off to the side and thrust her elbow backward into his jaw. Disengaging her sword and spinning quickly, she thrust backward, plunging the sword into his chest. She heard him growl in agony and fall to his knees.

She turned to face him. "Ironic, isn't it? I believe this was how you killed my friend Will."

"The weakling with red hair?" Davrok remarked with a pained growl. "I regretted staining my sword with his blood."

She plunged the sword further and twisted the blade, making him cry out. "Any more snide remarks and I will break out some torture methods of my own, you Turkish twat." Withdrawing the sword, she then placed the sharp blade against his neck. "Now tell me where the girl is?" she demanded.

"What girl?"

"The one whose blood opens the seal. Where is she?"

"There is no girl here. Other than you."

"What?"

"It's your blood that opens the seal, Slayer. Welcome to your destiny."

She readied the sword to deliver a fatal blow but was stopped when something painfully sharp slammed into her shoulder. She turned to see Professor Ryland holding a tranquilizer gun. Reaching around, she felt the syringe sticking out of her back. "That's not fair," she uttered, before collapsing to the floor.

After a brief stop at the Council, Grayson and Shaun continued to speed along the A1 enroute to Kimbolton, with Grayson using the rear-view mirror to keep a close eye on Ed in the backseat. He wasn't entirely comfortable trusting Shaun yet, and he really didn't trust their zombie companion. But in light of the circumstances, he'd try to make the best of it.

"Another day, another apocalypse, huh?" Grayson observed casually. "You've seen one, you've seen a hundred. You know, mankind has predicted its own demise far more often than it has ever actually faced it."

Shaun stared at him from the passenger seat. "What?"

"I'm serious. It was in this article Michael Crichton wrote recently. In 1975, _Newsweek_ noted signs that weather patterns had begun to change, that the world was going to freeze because of steadily dropping temperatures and that there would be catastrophic famines. When in fact, global temperatures are on the rise. But only by four degrees over the next 100 years. And the predicting explosion of world population that would translate into mass starvation and environmental degradation? Still hasn't happened. Fertility rates have fallen steadily, and per capita food production has increased.

"In 1972, the Club of Rome predicted that by 1993 we would have exhausted all our supplies of gold, mercury, tin, zinc, oil, copper, lead and natural gas. Yet 1993 came and went, and we still have all those things. Killer bees, Y2K, cancer caused by living near power lines. It's all an over-reaction, a symptom of our mortal humanity. It's like Mark Twain said, 'I've seen a heap of trouble in my life, and most of it never came to pass.'"

"Grayson, could you please shut up about the doomsday scenarios? I think I'm sufficiently pessimistic as it is."

"Fine. Just trying to make conversation."

They continued to drive along in silence.

"She's gonna' be fine, y'know," Grayson assured.

"Yeah, I know."

"I mean, she's got divine protection. What do you expect with a last name like Cross?"

Shaun glanced at him in confusion. Till that moment, it had never occurred that he didn't even know Sara's last name. Here he was, ready to risk his life for a girl he hardly knew.

"I gather from your expression you didn't know," Grayson remarked.

"No," he said slowly.

"Come on, you know the Big Guy isn't gonna' let anything happen to a girl with a name like that."

"No, no, I suppose not," he agreed. "So, um, what other insights can you give me into Sara? Y'know, if I were interested, which I'm not saying that I am."

Grayson glanced at him sideways and shook his head. "I think we have slightly more pressing matters at hand, Shaun."

"Right, you're right. You're absolutely right." He focused on the road ahead and the landscape zooming by. "Just tell me, does she like goatees? Because I can lose it easily."


	22. Two Guys, A Girl and A Prophecy

**DISCLAIMER: Isn't it odd that my favorite "Talk Soup" host, John Henson, is the only "Talk Soup" host to have faded into obscurity? I mean, Greg Kinnear is doing films and getting Academy Award nominations, Hal Sparks is doing witty commentary on VH1, and Aisha Tyler is analyzing DNA on "CSI." So wherefore art thou, John? I heard CNBC cancelled John McEnroe's show; maybe you could take over the 10pm slot. Please come back to us, Skunkboy! **

**Enough of my random thoughts. You came here for Chapter 22, didn't you? Well, here 'tis. Stick with me, people. I see a light at the end of the tunnel. Which might be an oncoming train, but let's stay optimistic…**

Consciousness came very, very slowly back to her. Sara felt the cold floor against her cheek and tried to raise her head up. Finding that her hands were bound with rope behind her back, she was unable to sit up and resignedly sank back to the floor.

"Ah, have you decided to rejoin us, Miss Cross?"

Sara looked from the expensive Italian leather shoes that had come to a stop in front of her, all the way up to the face of Malcolm Ryland as he stared down at her, casually cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief.

"Professor Ryland? You shot me," she croaked through a dry throat.

"Yes, I know. But you were about to kill my lord and master, and I couldn't very well let that happen."

"Your lord and master?"

"You see, I serve a higher power, Miss Cross. Something you would know nothing about, what with the Council and its endless miles of red tape, its bowing and scraping to one politician after another. Now I realize it's very heartwarming to think that you're doing God's work but tell me, Miss Cross, has the world become a better place since you started fighting? The countless demons and vampires that you've killed, the many times that you've risked your life, has that helped the fate of humanity become any brighter?"

"You think Davrok wants to help humanity?"

"No, of course not. Humanity is beneath him. We humans are lost in doubt and insecurity, conflicted by emotions and morals. When Davrok takes control of this world, life will become so much simpler, so much clearer. Kill or be killed."

"Ryland, why are you doing this?"

"Because I want what every human wants—immortality."

"Believe me, immortality is over-rated. Think of having to relive those horrid fashion trends over and over," she sighed. "You wannabe's with your romantic notions of vampires. They're not seductive, superior beings poncing around in fancy clothes with Eurotrash accents. They are ruthless demons who set up shop in your body, parasites that have to feed on the living. Your mind and your soul won't be around to enjoy all the perks you think you're gonna' get after you're turned. So you might want to think long and hard about this. There's no way back when you become a forsaken one."

"Oh, we both know that's just anti-vampire propaganda perpetuated by the very narrow-minded Council," he said dismissively. He kneeled down to be closer to her eye level. "Frankly, I'm surprised you've never tried to cross over. Think of it, Sara. No more human weakness, all the strength of an immortal. There's nothing you couldn't do."

"Apart from walking in daylight."

"Very well." He stood up and walked out of her line of sight. "I gave you a choice, Miss Cross. And you chose death. How nice that you won't live to regret it."

Grayson pulled up to the front of Kimbolton Castle. He couldn't see Ryland's car nor the one Sara had taken from the garage. He could only assume they'd parked around back.

Shaun unbuckled his seat belt. "Right, what's the first thing we need to do?"

"Evacute the school. And we better get a move on. We're losing daylight, and it's not gonna' be easy to get several hundred kids to leave school."

"You kidding me? It's an excuse to leave school; I'm fairly sure they'll jump at the chance. Or we could tell 'em there's free ice cream down the street or something."

"Good thinking."

"Let me just check on Ed." Shaun opened the back door and made sure Ed's restraints were still in place. "Listen, we'll be right back, Ed. In the meantime, I need you to stay right here, okay? Do not move."

The zombie moaned sadly in compliance. Shaun touched his forehead to Ed's for a moment, then shut the door and went to join Grayson as he walked up the steps through the columned entrance.

They approached the reception desk in the grand foyer. "Hi, we need to speak with the school administrator," Grayson began. "It's a very urgent matter."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I'm afraid this is an emergency. You see, we…um, detected a gas leak in a part of the old building. And according to protocol, it's imperative that we evacuate the school as quickly and efficiently as possible."

"Gas leak?" She looked at them quizzically. Then her wide eyes registered recognition. "Oh, yes, you must be from the Council. Mr. Simmonds told us you were on the way. I'll let Mr. Pascoe know that you're here. We've already begun evacuation procedures. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?"

"I'd love some," Shaun offered.

In short order, a fleet of buses was mobilized in the school's parking lot, and the children were loaded onto them enroute to a nearby village. Daylight was fading quickly as the last bus pulled away, and the school's staff went to their individual cars to join the convoy.

Shaun and Grayson stood in the doorway and watched the last of the cars depart. "Guess we need to find this private chapel now?" Shaun inquired.

"Yeah, Pascoe showed me the way to the old part of the castle. He says it's down a few corridors and some stairs, and we can't miss it." He was scanning the horizon as the warm orange glow of the sun succumbed to a midnight blue. Something seemed to be moving in the trees ahead of them.

"Is that what I think it is?" Shaun asked warily.

"If you think it's a bloodthirsty legion of the undead, then yes it's what you think it is."

"How many?"

"Lots." Grayson shoved Shaun inside and closed the door as the vampires started to emerge from the trees and move quickly across the lawn. He ran up the stairs, and Shaun tried to keep up.

"What are we gonna' do?" Shaun demanded. "We don't have time to get in and rescue Sara _and_ set up Ed with the explosives."

"We need to rescue Sara first. She's the key to the seal."

"How do we do that?"

"I don't know, I'm making this up as I go." He burst through the door to the old part of the castle, and they continued running down corridors and a narrow flight of stairs. "First thing we need to do is keep all those extra vampires out of the chapel."

"Any suggestions?"

"Unfortunately, this building is a school. It's open to all, so the vampires won't have a problem getting in."

"Can we lock the doors or something?"

"They'd break through. We need to do a counter-spell to cancel the invitation."

Finally they came to a stop outside a set of large double doors with crosses carved into the wood. "This must be the chapel," Grayson stated. He reached into an inside coat pocket to produce a small book which he placed in Shaun's hands.

"_The Little Book of Useful Spells_?" Shaun read in disbelief as he looked at its cover of swirly letters and a cartoon cauldron. "You gotta' be kidding me."

"Hey, don't judge a book by its cover…or its size. There's some very powerful incantations in there. Look for the one to repeal consent." He hurriedly removed the crossbow from his backpack and began to load it. The faint sound of breaking doors and hurried shuffling feet grew nearer.

"Is this Latin? I don't know Latin," Shaun said, panicking as he flipped to what he thought was the correct page.

One vampire after another began to appear at the other end of the corridor, walking slowly toward them.

"It's easy," Grayson said, opening one of the chapel doors and stepping inside. "Just make sure you pronounce every single letter. Oh, and say it in English as well, to be on the safe side."

The vampires were at a run now, trying to get inside the chapel before it was too late.

"His verbes, consensus rescissus est," Shaun stammered with uncertainty as he followed Grayson into the chapel. "By these words, consent repealed."

"Sorry, guys, this is a private party." Grayson slammed the doors shut on the advancing horde and grabbed an iron torch from the wall, threading it through the door handles as a precaution. The two men braced for an imminent assault on the door, but none came. They sighed in relief that the spell had worked and then looked around the chapel, letting their eyes adjust to the flickering glow of the torches.

Sara continued to lie on the cold stone floor of the chapel. It was after sunset, she was alone and defenseless, and there would be no last-minute rescue. If the Council was sending anyone, they would have been here by now. She closed her eyes and wished that all of this were some bad dream, a product of too many amaretto sours.

But it felt all too real when a massive, clawed hand closed around her throat and roughly pulled her to her feet to stand in front of Ryland at the altar. Davrok continued to hold her firmly by the throat as they stood above the seal in the floor, La Trayectoria Luz.

"Ah, yes, I think I have everything now," Ryland proclaimed. "Shall we begin the ritual?"

"I grow impatient to spill her blood," Davrok snarled.

"All right, all right. Keep your chain mail on. I suppose it won't hurt to start a bit early."

"You're messing with forces you can't begin to understand, Ryland," Sara attempted to say through her nearly-crushed throat.

"On the contrary, Miss Cross, I believe it was your Council's translator that failed to realize that you were the necessary sacrifice. I can see why there was a little confusion, some bits of the prophecy were a bit obscure. But I assure you I know perfectly well what I'm doing."

"You won't get away with this," she continued.

"Oh, that's so cliché, Sara. Can't you think of any other last words?" Ryland asked condescendingly. "I suppose you think some Council cavalry will come busting through those doors, but I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. The several hundred vampires that we've summoned to this site will keep them far too busy to get to you in time."

"Look, mate, I've met some very powerful shamans in my time. And when they bring me back to life, you are so gonna' get your ass kicked," she added. Davrok's grip grew tighter, silencing her.

"Language, Miss Cross. We are on holy ground," Ryland chided. "Now if we could avoid any further interruptions…"

He opened his arms wide and looked upward, beginning to chant. "The center is dark. Centrum est obscurus. The darkness breathes. Tenebrae respiratis. The listener hears. Hear me. Unlock the gate, let the darkness shine. Abre la puerta a la noche, abre La Trayectoria Luz. Accept our humble offering. With the blood of the warrior in light, shall the earth be cleansed. The world will once again belong to the Old Ones, and the blood of men shall flow like wine."

Ryland removed a silver dagger from its sheath. He started to bring it close to Sara's throat, but Davrok grasped his hand and stopped him. "I have waited long to taste the blood of a slayer. I need no dagger to open her veins."

"I really think it best if we stick to the ritual…" Ryland insisted. He was quickly silenced when Davrok growled at him. "All right, all right, but if you end up opening some hell dimension, don't expect me to close it."

The vampire gently pulled the hair aside from her neck to expose it. Sara closed her eyes tightly and tried to prepare herself for the pain. As his fangs moved closer to her skin, Davrok suddenly felt a presence behind him and the point of something sharp in his back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice behind him interrupted.

Davrok turned with Sara still in his grip and found himself staring down the length of a sword.


	23. Surround Sound and Fury

**DISCLAIMER: Look around you. Look around you. Just look around you. Have you worked out what we're looking for? If you said "cliffhanger resolution," you're correct. Keep your holy water and crosses handy. Things are about to get ugly… **

Shaun had picked up the sword that Sara had dropped in her earlier fight and was now holding it against Davrok's throat.

"Who the hell are you?" the vampire growled.

"I'm Shaun…Senior Sales Manager, Foree Electric…and vampire slayer. If you want a slayer's blood, take mine."

"No, Shaun," Sara pleaded.

Ryland moved quickly around the altar and placed his dagger at Shaun's throat. "Fine by me," he said.

"Leave him alone, Ryland," Sara warned. "It's my blood you want."

"One slayer's blood is just as good as another's," Ryland replied.

"Then maybe you should try and take mine?" Grayson inquired, pointing his crossbow at Ryland's throat.

Ryland threw a contemptible sideways glance at the new arrival. "In case you didn't get the memo, I'm not a vampire."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure if this arrow pierces your carotid artery and continues to propel violently through your brain and out of your skull, it'll probably kill you."

"Point taken."

"Look, why don't we all just take a moment and calm down?" Shaun suggested.

"Very easy to say when you don't have sharp fangs hovering over your jugular," Sara noted.

"I'm just trying to work out a plan," Shaun said.

"We don't have all night for a Mexican stand-off, Shaun. This is a time for action," Sara commented. With her hands still bound behind her back, she tried to remove a dagger from its holster on her belt without being noticed.

"Yes, Shaun, you should listen to your girlfriend," Ryland said.

"She's not my girlfriend," Shaun corrected.

"Then you won't mind if I slit her throat?"

"I would mind!" Sara cried. "Very much."

"Okay, okay, everybody, just keep your position until we can talk this out and get to the point."

"I'll get to the point." Sara rammed her dagger into Davrok's side. He recoiled in pain and released her. Grayson slammed the butt of his crossbow into Ryland's jaw and sent him stumbling to the side.

"Sara, get behind me!" Shaun shouted.

"Aim for the head, Shaun," she advised.

Shaun summoned all his strength and swung his sword, slashing and separating Davrok's head from his body. The severed head rolled into the shadows while the body sank to the floor, dark blood pouring out onto the seal, rapidly filling its intricate etched knots.

"Impressive," Sara praised. "Most impressive."

"Thanks," Shaun said, using the sword to cut the rope tied around her hands. Once they were free, she threw his arms around his neck and hugged him, almost suffocating him.

Ryland rose from the floor in time to see his master beheaded. Forcing himself to recover quickly from the shock, he muttered a few words of a counter-spell under his breath and scrambled for the other exit behind the altar.

Shaun and Sara stood together looking at the body. "How come he didn't go all…dusty?" he asked.

"I dunno. Maybe something to do with the way the Turks converted him into a vampire," she suggested. "At any rate, he's not moving, which is a good thing. What about the vamps outside?"

"Oh, we did a spell to uninvite them. So I figure we can just hang out here till dawn and then walk out through the piles of ashes. Back-up from the Council should be here by then to clear up the mess."

"Good thinking."

"Well, I learned from the best." He smiled at her, and she returned it.

"Handsome man saved me from the monsters…again," she mused. She placed her hand gently alongside his face and caressed his cheek. "I wasn't sure if you'd come back for me."

"You didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?" He placed his hand behind her neck and started to pull her in for a kiss.

Grayson rushed up. "Guys, where's Ryland?"

"I thought you had him," Shaun huffed.

"I did before, but I don't now."

"Is there an exit we don't know about?" Sara asked.

"Well, by definition, we wouldn't know about it," Grayson replied sarcastically.

A hesitant knock on the doors echoed through the silent chapel.

"They're not supposed to be able to do that," Grayson stated uneasily.

"You said you did a spell to uninvite them," she said to Shaun.

"I did!" Shaun insisted.

"Are you sure you said it correctly?"

"I might not have said every tiny little syllable, but yeah, I said them."

Another slam at the doors echoed through the torch-lit chamber. The knocking was getting heavier and more frequent. The creatures on the other side were starting to get ideas.

Sara, Shaun and Grayson ran to the doors. Shaun and Grayson grabbed a wooden pew and placed it in front of the door, and all three of them leaned their full weight against the wooden portal. The structure that had once seemed sturdy was now beginning to buckle under the incessant pounding.

"We have a situation!" Shaun nervously observed.

"I know!" Grayson snapped.

"Shaun, I've been meaning to say that I'm sorry!" Sara cried above the noise.

"For what?"

"Those awful things I said the other day. I didn't mean it, I was just upset and confused."

"It's fine. You were preoccupied with the whole end of the world thing."

"Exactly. It was a total emotional rollercoaster, and it was wrong of me to lash out at you."

"Don't worry about it, Sara. I understand."

"I'm so glad," she said with relief. "Okay, now it's your turn to apologize."

"For what?"

"Well, we can start with losing my car."

"You lost her car?" Grayson interjected.

"I didn't lose it, I just…misplaced it."

"Dude, I'm surprised you're still alive. This girl is psycho about her car."

"I am _not_ psycho about my car," she protested. "Anyway, what Shaun did was an accident. You deliberately changed all the preset stations on my radio just to piss me off. I have a very precise system of choosing the preset stations on my radio."

"You see what I mean?" Grayson remarked to Shaun.

Just then, a hand burst through the splintered wood and clawed about wildly. Shaun grabbed a torch from the wall and thrust it at the hand, which retreated back through the hole.

"Look, I think there are slightly more pressing matters here than Sara's quirks," Grayson commented.

"I like my quirks," she declared.

"I like your quirks, too," Shaun concurred.

"Not here!" she snapped. There was a loud crash, and she turned to find herself staring at a statue that had been rammed through the newly-made hole, creating a bigger gap in the wood. "We should probably be moving."

Shaun grabbed another torch from the wall and tossed it to Sara, while Grayson loaded and readied his crossbow. "I say we head for the other exit," Grayson suggested. "I'm thinking it's somewhere behind the altar."

"I'm thinking you're right," Sara said, as a few vampires entered from behind the altar, followed quickly by dozens more. Behind them, the double doors were beginning to give way to another mass of vampires. The stained-glass windows arrayed around the chapel began to shatter violently as other vampires decided to find their own way in.

"Any other ideas, Captain Wow?" Shaun asked.

"Just stay close to me."

The three slayers stood back to back to back and moved slowly toward the center of the room, Sara and Shaun trying to keep the vampires at bay with the torches while Grayson looked for a clear shot.

"How many can you take out, Grayson?" Sara inquired.

"Eight, maybe 10, if I'm lucky," he replied. "And I'm not feeling particularly lucky."

The lone humans looked out on the dark turbulent sea swarming with yellow eyes, their fangs sharp and gleaming, clawed hands chancing a swipe at the warm-blooded prey before being burnt with a torch.

"Well," Sara began, "it's been nice knowing you."

"Which one of us?" Grayson asked.

"Both of you."

"Yeah, but which one more?" Shaun wondered.

"Oh, we don't have time for this," she groaned.

"We don't have time for much of anything," Grayson stated matter-of-factly.

Professor Ryland came running out of the corridor and into the night, where he was met by a throng of waiting vampires. Thankfully they recognized him as a familiar of Davrok and refrained from killing him. "They're in there," he said quickly, pointing back toward the door where he'd escaped. "The humans that killed your leader. You must kill them and avenge him."

The vampires weren't all that interested in vengeance but they weren't about to turn down a free meal. They started to enter the chapel. Ryland watched them with a satisfied smile and continued across the field. Up ahead, he saw a parked Range Rover. The authorities would be looking for his car. If he switched now, he could be out of there and on a beach in the Riviera before anyone was the wiser.

He opened the unlocked door and was immensely grateful to find the keys still in the ignition. As he went to adjust the rear-view mirror, he saw a strange-looking shape in the backseat. "What the—?"

The zombie Ed reached into the front seat and dragged him backward with surprising strength, biting into his neck. Ryland screamed and thrashed in pain as his blood splattered onto the windshield and the leather upholstery.


	24. Grand Opening

**DISCLAIMER: Wow, this is the next to last disclaimer that I'll have to write. I should really write something profound and uplifting. Or I should just get to the point and tell you that all "Shaun of the Dead" characters are the property of Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright.**

"If anyone's got a plan, now would be a really good time to share it," Shaun suggested, with a hint of desperation in his voice.

"I defer to the senior slayer here," Sara replied.

"I'm workin' on it, I'm workin' on it!" Grayson said.

"Well, whatever you're working on, do it faster," Shaun implored.

"Grayson, the torch is going out!" Sara cried. She desperately willed the last embers of the torch to keep burning before the darkness enveloped them.

"Wait, wait, something's happening," Shaun said. He'd noticed a faint glow of light near the seal that was getting brighter and brighter. Sara and Grayson strained to see. A strong burst of white light rose from the seal and shot toward the large cross on the wall. "That can't be good."

The restless sea of vampires suddenly grew still, enthralled by the light. The walls and floor around them began to shake.

"All right, who opened the seal?" Grayson demanded, looking at Sara.

"Don't look at me, I didn't do it," she protested.

"You're sure you didn't get any of your blood on that seal?"

"I'm positive. Maybe it was one of you guys. Any open wounds you conveniently forgot about?"

"Look, let's not bicker and argue about who opened the seal," Grayson said. "The important thing is it's open."

"So now what we do?" Shaun implored.

"Well…what did we learn from _Raiders of the Lost Ark_?" Grayson asked.

"That the gun is more powerful than the scimitar?" Shaun offered.

"No. Well, apart from that."

"Don't look at the light," Sara said.

"Exactly. Shut your eyes and don't look at it, no matter what."

"Are you sure about this?" Shaun asked.

"Just go with it. If we die, you have permission to torment me for eternity."

"Nice."

The light continued to grow brighter and spread around the room. Though their eyes were shut tightly, the three humans still sensed the increasing brightness and heat around them. Suddenly, a burst of energy knocked them to the ground, and they tumbled on top of one another. Moments later, they were surrounded by complete silence and darkness.

Grayson opened his eyes first to survey the room. He tapped Shaun on the shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Open your eyes."

Grimacing in pain, Shaun tried to sit up. He couldn't believe his eyes. He leaned over to Sara and nudged her gently. "Get a load of this."

All around them, the floor was covered in ashes.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Beats me," Shaun remarked.

"Maybe since Davrok's blood opened the seal, this cleansing burst of light went after the vampires instead," Grayson reasoned.

"You've gotta' be fucking kidding me."

"Well, how else do you explain the fact that there are now piles of dust where hundreds of vampires used to be? Just go with it."

They slowly rose to their feet and made their way out of the chapel and into the open. They were met with a fleet of headlights advancing onto the field.

"Bloody hell, it's the cavalry," Shaun observed.

"Impeccable timing, those guys," Grayson groaned.

One of the cars stopped in front of them, and Michael jumped out, followed by two other men in black SWAT-type uniforms. "Major Corbett, I need you to cordone off this estate. Make sure the perimeter is secure," he said to the first man. "Sergeant Thomas, take your men and make a thorough sweep of the chapel interior. Stake anything without a heartbeat." The uniformed men saluted and headed off to perform their designated tasks. Michael finally turned his attention to the tired trio. "Are you three all right?" he asked.

"Surviving," Sara said wearily.

"What about Davrok?"

"He lost his head," Grayson quipped.

"Shaun cut it off," Sara said proudly. "We think his blood opened the seal, big burst of light, and all the vampires went poof."

"I think we caught a lucky break," Shaun remarked.

"Well, actually, it turns out Alexandra made another mistake in the translation," Michael explained hesitantly. "The seal was always an instrument of good. No matter whose blood opened it, its purpose was to cleanse the world of demons. Within a one-mile radius at least."

The three slayers exchanged glances.

"What about Professor Ryland?" Michael inquired.

"He escaped before the grand opening," Sara replied. "We didn't see which way he went."

"We'll circulate his picture, make sure all the European branches are on the lookout for him. He won't get far. Very well done, all of you," Michael praised, proceeding on to the chapel behind them.

Grayson sighed. "I'm gonna' go get the car." He took off walking across the lawn.

Sara and Shaun were left standing alone. "Well, this has been an interesting night," she sighed.

"Very interesting," he agreed.

"Anyone ever tell you you really know how to show a girl a good time?"

He laughed. "Uh…no. I don't think that's ever been mentioned."

"Well," she said, glancing back at the chapel, "looks like my schedule suddenly cleared up. What do you want to do now?"

He checked his watch. "I think we might have time to get in a couple of pints and a round of pool at the Shepherd's."

"Sounds like a plan."

Grayson came running up to them, a panicked look in his eyes. "Sorry, Sara, Shaun will have to give you a raincheck."

"What? Why?"

"Shaun and I have to take the car back to the Council. Remember, we need to return that equipment that we borrowed," he said emphatically.

Shaun didn't quite follow but Grayson seemed insistent. "Yeah, alright. I'll, uh…I'll call you later."

"Okay," she muttered as the two men raced back to the Range Rover.

Michael approached Sara. "Where are they off to?" he inquired.

"Oh, leaving without an explanation. Again."

"I'm very glad that all of you are safe and sound."

There was a loud, girlish scream from behind them.

"What was that?" Michael gasped.

"I don't know, it sounded kinda' like Shaun. Anyway, things were looking very bleak at one point. We were completely surrounded, the situation looked entirely hopeless. But somehow we came out of it relatively unscathed. And…" She smacked her forehead as a realization hit her. "Oh my God, Mister Barnaby!"

"Barnaby?"

"This guy that was giving me a tour of the place. I had to knock him unconscious so I could sneak into the chapel. He's still locked up in a storage closet somewhere."

"Don't worry, we'll make sure he gets home safely. After signing a waiver not to sue you for aggravated assault."

"It wasn't necessarily aggravated…"

"Wait, why was he giving you a tour of the place?"

"Because you fed the headmaster that stupid cover story about me being Misses Davenport, a barrister's wife with a son called Jordan."

"I didn't give him any cover story. I told him that you would arrive at the school to investigate a gas leak, and that would be their cue to start evacuation procedures."

"Oh." Her gaze fell to the ground, heavy with guilt.

"What is it?"

"I think I might have just ruined young Jordan Davenport's educational prospects."

"Don't worry, we'll get it sorted. In the meantime, how's your Hungarian?"

"Nonexistent."

"Good. The Vatican received an urgent distress call yesterday. They need immediate assistance," he explained, handing her an envelope. "Here are your plane tickets. You're expected in Budapest tomorrow evening."

"Right, because heaven forbid I should have some time to actually enjoy averting the apocalypse."

"Sara, I know you're tired. But evil doesn't sleep, and neither should we."

"One of these days, I'm slipping Nyquil into evil's tea," she remarked, reluctantly taking the tickets from Michael.

"Oh, and one more thing. If you feel the need to say farewell to anyone, I'd do it sooner rather than later."


	25. Departures

**DISCLAIMER DE EPILOGUE: Well, you've made it to the final chapter, the zenith, the pinnacle, the Mount Doom if you will. What a long, strange trip it's been, huh? I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Special thanks to JessicaDwyer and MizSlick for their continued encouragement, with "encouragement" being a nice way of saying "incessant prodding." I feel an odd mix of relief and sadness that this story is over. But then again, is any story ever really over? Well, yeah, this one is. Because I need to catch up on some sleep, y'all. **

**For more _Shaun of the Dead_ fun, I greatly encourage you to join the team at ShaunSquad dot com. Or to discuss all things Simon Pegg, feel free to join us on the Pegged Message Board at Ezboard dot com or on Peggster dot net, courtesy of webmistress Harmony. And for you Nick "Ed" Frost fans, Thomas has put together a great website called Frostitution dot net. It's even better than spending a Sunday morning doing Eskimo rolls with the Rough Ramblers.**

**Now then, everybody to the Winchester! The first round's on me… **

Shaun was eternally grateful that Grayson hadn't freaked out about the bloody remnants of Professor Ryland that were strewn about his Range Rover. Unlike Shaun who had let out a loud, girlish scream at the gruesome sight, Grayson merely shrugged and said, "Eh, it's a rental." He said he'd leave the car at the airport before his flight to Finland and let the metropolitan police sort it out.

That night after Grayson had dropped them off and he'd returned Ed safely to the shed, Shaun tried to call Sara but there was no answer on her mobile phone. He figured she was getting some well-deserved rest. Later the next day, he decided to go round her flat but there was no answer at the door. As he was walking down the stairs, he ran into Slick in the hallway retrieving her mail.

"Shaun, nice to see you again!" she greeted.

"Um, hi…" he replied, trying to recall her name.

"Slick," she reminded with a smile.

"Yes, Slick. Have you seen Sara?"

"Oh, she's moved out. Didn't she tell you?"

"Moved out!"

"Well, more like she was kicked out for lack of payment. She left earlier this morning."

"Did she leave a forwarding address or anything?"

"Not that I know of."

"Right. Well, thanks, Slick."

"Don't mention it. Oh, and Shaun, don't be a stranger."

"Yeah, sure." He walked out the front door of the building and stood on the steps in a daze. The world was still there, contrary to what they had feared last night, but it was now spinning. She just left? No word, no warning, not even a message on his machine. He ran his hands through his ginger hair in uncertainty. Then resignedly, he made his way home.

Later as he stood in the kitchen preparing a cup of tea, there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, he found Sara standing on the front step carrying a backpack and holding a box. "Hey," she said hesitantly.

"Hi," he replied.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure, yeah."

"I can't stay long," she offered, stepping uncertainly into the hallway. "Actually, I just came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" he sputtered in disbelief. "Why goodbye? I thought there was still work to be done. I thought…" Suddenly, a scene from _Bram Stoker's Dracula_ came into his head. Sara was draped across a luxurious four-poster bed in a luxurious gown. Wearing a luxurious Victorian suit and tophat, he rushed to her side and took her hands as she pleaded breathlessly, "Shaun, take me away from all this death."

He shook his head and returned to the present. "I don't know what I thought."

"I don't know what I thought, either," she sighed. Suddenly, a scene from _Army of Darkness_ popped into her head. Shaun, in the role of Ash, had just blown a zombie away with his shotgun. She ran to his side and as they stood in the debris-strewn aisle of the S-Mart, he took her into his embrace and dipped her. Temptingly, he said in a low voice, "Gimme some sugar, baby."

She shook her head and returned to the present. "I have to leave for Hungary tonight, to deal with some uppity werewolves," she explained. She walked into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, placing the box on the table and her backpack on the floor. "I wasn't sure how to tell you. I've just been wandering the streets for hours searching for the perfect cliché or uplifting platitude or maybe a rare demo tape of the Pet Shop Boys when they were still named West End."

"Any luck?" he asked, taking a seat beside her.

"No, but I did find some really cute hats in a shop on Regent Street," she said excitedly. "Anyway, I finally realized there was nothing that I could do or say to change the situation. I'm a slayer. Where trouble goes, I have to follow. Even if it takes me away from you."

She turned away, not wanting him to see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "I really didn't think it was going to be this difficult to leave. I had this crazy, wacky idea that I could kill the monster _and_ get the guy this time. So much for a happy ending, huh?"

"Well," he said, taking her hand and interlacing his fingers in it, "someone once said happy endings are a myth designed to make us feel better about the fact that life is a thankless struggle."

"Sophocles?"

"No, some guy on telly," he answered with a comforting smile.

They both leaned back against the couch, and she placed her head on his shoulder. It seemed like the first moment they'd had in weeks to breathe, to think, to feel, to just be.

"Just for the record," she said, "I would probably consider leaving the Council. If you asked me to."

"But I would probably never ask you to."

"I know. But sometimes I wish you weren't such a good guy."

He laughed slightly. "So…what am I supposed to do now?" he inquired.

"Besides sell appliances?"

"Yes, smartass, besides that."

"I don't know. Write a book, take cooking classes, travel, live your life. Do all the things that I can't. Then you can call me to gloat about it insufferably."

"Anything else?"

"Look after the place while I'm gone?"

"I'll do my best. Can't guarantee I won't completely bollix things up and wind up dead. Or worse."

"Now that would be a shame. There's a shortage of perfect DJs in this world, it would be a shame to lose one." She smiled up at him, and he kissed her forehead.

In the ensuing silence, she heard music from the stereo and recognized the familiar notes of Jeff Buckley's heartbreaking ballad, "Lover, You Should Have Come Over."

"You're listening to Buckley," she surmised with a smug grin.

"Yeah, well, I'm willing to admit that you were right about some things."

"That is very kind of you. Oh," she suddenly sat up and grabbed the box from the table. "I'm leaving these with you. For safekeeping." She handed him the box. Opening the flaps, Shaun found her prized collection of _Star Wars_ action figures.

He looked at her in awe and shook his head emphatically. "No, I can't take these."

"Yes, you can. I know you'll take good care of them."

He set the box delicately back down on the table, trying to think of something else to say. "Do you have time for a cup of tea before you go?"

"No, my taxi's waiting. I should really be getting to the airport." She stood, grabbed her bag and started for the door as Shaun followed her.

"So you think I should stick around here and play the hero?" he asked sarcastically.

"You're not playing a hero, Shaun," she countered. "You _are_ one." She kissed his cheek and threw her arms around his neck. They held each other tightly for a few moments, Sara trying to memorize every detail of this moment as Shaun tried to do the same. Then she reluctantly pulled away. "Take care of yourself, Shaun."

"Yeah, you too."

She said another quick goodbye and opened the door.

"Wait!" he blurted.

"What?" She paused in the doorway and turned to him.

"You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"The one that I asked you the other night, before the rave."

"Oh, _that_." She smiled at the memory and felt herself blushing. "Y'know, I've been thinking, and I did come up with an answer."

"Which is?"

She approached him, cradled his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "If I come back, we'll pick up this conversation where we left off."

"You really must come back," he said softly, touching his forehead to hers. "You wouldn't want my life to get boring, would you?"

"Oh, don't quote _Star Wars_ at me. You know it makes me go all gooey."

"I do now," he remarked, with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll see you later," she said, kissing him one last time.

"I'll hold you to that." He watched her pass through the gate and get into a waiting cab. As it pulled away, she rolled the window down and waved enthusiastically. He waved back. Then after the cab had driven out of sight, he shut the door.

He opened the lid of the box and pulled out the Han and Leia figures. He held them up to face each other. With Shaun's voice, the figure of Leia said, "I love you," while the figure of Han said, "I know."

THE END


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